Iron
by Baked The Author
Summary: Trapped in the locker, Taylor gains the ability to forge wonders of metal. Sharp, pointy, protective wonders. If this were all, it would be par-for-the-course as Tinkers go; yet, at the moment of connection, Taylor receives the Berserker Armor... with the wrathful spirit of its last wearer included.
1. Design 1

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We all know the story. A victim. A locker. Superpowers. Yet where in one possibility a frightened girl commanded the insects she shared her iron casket with, in another possibility Taylor's anger eclipsed her fear, and a different power answered her furious screams. A power that gave her the armor and rage of a legendary warrior, and the skills of the greatest smith to ever live.

Crossposted from Spacebattles, where 1-4 are already readable. Debates happen there. Reading happens here. Enjoy the latest plot bunny!

Fandoms: Worm/Berserk

Godo!Taylor BerserkerArmor!Taylor

Rating: low M for violence, language and trauma

Genre: Supernatural

Pairing: none

**IRON**

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**Design 1.1**

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**IRON**

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**Design 1.1**

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As the distant laughter of my tormenters echoed off the walls of my metal prison, the sound becoming more distant as they left me here, I began to scream in earnest.

"LET ME OUT!" I shrieked, banging on the locker door as hard as I could; I didn't care how much it hurt, or that I'd probably break my hands before the lock would give. All I could think about was the rancid smell of shit and other horrid _things_ that made a mush that came up to my knees, _wriggling things starting to crawl into my shoes and pants and –_

An inarticulate screech left my lips as I began trying to make the door of my locker give way with my sticks of arms, my weak hands, my knees. I was doing more damage to myself than the metal, but I _didn't fucking **care**!_

I wanted _out _of this putrid coffin!

"LETMEOUTLETMEOUTLETMEOUT!"

Each syllable was joined with renewed attempts at getting free, getting _out_; I didn't want to die here!

_'Why?'_

More bugs began to climb under my clothes. I ignored them, still raging against the door that'd shut in my face; through the slits that were about head height, I'd seen _her_.

Sophia Hess.

_Smirking_. "Hope you like your new apartment, Hebert," she'd sneered between my cries and screams of revulsion, "It's honestly more than you fucking deserve, you _weakling._"

I felt and heard the bones in my hands cracking from the impacts, but I kept punching. My knees felt like they were bleeding, felt like my kneecaps were about to break, but I kept at it. The bugs were biting me, moving toward my injuries, but I kept fighting. I could barely breathe in this toxic filth, but I kept screaming.

I kept fighting, kept screaming, kept struggling. Kept kicking and punching and bashing my limbs against the unyielding metal of the locker.

No teachers were coming. I couldn't hear anyone outside between my screams and the ringing bangs of my attempts at freedom, at _survival_. None of the rent-a-cops came by on patrol, not even the fucking janitor, who should've smelled the stench coming from here before school opened for the day and _dealt with it!_

I would never know how long I was at it, beating against the lid of the coffin the Trio had prepared for me until my hands and knees were nearly broken from my incessant struggles… and then I started using my forehead.

Another animalistic shriek of **rage** left my lips; why are they doing this to me?! What did I ever do to _them?!_ Nothing! And now they were trying to _kill me!_

_'NO! I'M NOT GOING TO DIE IN HERE! I WON'T STOP FIGHT –'_

[IRON]

A field of stars. Two titanic creatures spiraled through the void. They communicated with one another, targeting a world they wished to harvest, agreeing as though they'd been arguing on where to stop for gas.

The vision ripples and becomes a high-ceilinged hall of darkly-stained wood, the walls covered in thousands of exotic and mundane blades. I am walking though the hall, but it's not my body that walks. It feels strange, looking on all the blades and handles and _knowing_ what each and every one is called.

Bardiche. Halberd. Billhook. Claymore. Wabakashi. Kama. Odachi. And those are only the mundane yet beautifully-crafted items hanging in the hall.

Then there are the odd ones, further in, weapons with _names_.

A massive, ugly sword that seems _alive_: Soul Edge.

A silver claymore, crackling with blue-white lightning: Alastor.

A huge odachi with a red handle, rippling with strange green energy: Masamune.

A blue broadsword, the runed blade glowing a bright sapphire blue: Gramr.

I was starting to feel afraid, and more than a little annoyed at the lack of something I could _use_. I had the feeling that I needed to _make_ these weapons before I could use them.

Besides, as amazing as many of these implements of violence were, none of them would help me get out of the locker.

And then I spotted what lay on the far side of the hall: arranged on a mannequin was a suit of black, jagged armor, the helm fashioned to look like a jackal's snarling visage: the Berserker Armor.

I had the feeling that _this_ armor was what I needed, and began rushing toward it, only marginally noticing other, shiny armors arrayed around the alcove and the ridiculously-sized blade-shaped slab of metal that rested on an altar behind my target: Dragon Slayer.

I touched the armor, fury and relief flowing though me, right before –

**STRUGGLE**

_The sound of worn, squeaking wheels. Creaking ropes. The smell of death._

_A child's piteous cry. A broken woman's cooing. A man's harsh voice huffing in resignation._

**FIGHTSTRUGGLEFIGHT**

_A woman dies. Gives me a name._

_A sword, heavy in my hands. Blood on my face. Silver coins in the dark._

_Light leaving men's eyes. Battle. The screams sound the same._

_Fire in the night. Death rattles. Freedom._

**FIGHTSTRUGGLEFIGHT**

_"W-wait! I yield! Please have mercy-" the sword is lighter now._

_The screams still sound the same. The rich still try to leash me. I walk away._

_Ambush. A woman with **black eyes**. A **white hawk**._

C**T**a**y**s**l**c**o**a**r**

**_G_**_S**R**O**I**P**F**H**F**I**I**A**TH**_

**_HATE_FIGHTSTRUGGLE_HATE_**

_Leashed, I fight. Band of the Hawk._

_Two banners, two countries, warring._

_The sword is light in my hands. The blood is sweet on my lips._

**Zodd**

_Behelit_

**HATERAGESTRUGGLE_FIGHT_**

_More war. More battle. More blood. We win._

_Knights. Status. Position. Knives and whispers in the dark._

_More collars. More leashes. No._

_I leave. _Cas_Taylor_ca_ pleads. I… can't stay. **GRIF**_**SOPHIA_FITH_**_ challenges._

_I win. I leave._

**STRUGGLEHATEHATEHATEHATEFIGHT**

_I return. _Tay_Cas_lor_ca says things._

_Rescue. **GR**_**SO_IF_PH_FI_IA_TH_ **_is broken._

_Waterfall. Pack. Group. …family…_

_Lead, they will follow. I know nothing but battle._

_Decision. Leave or change? Change or leave?_

…**Eclipse…**

**_STRUGGLE_HATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATE_FIGHT_**

**Godhand**

**_SOPHIAGRIFFITH_**

**BRAND**

**DEATH**

**BLOOD**

**"_…don't…look…_"**

**"GRRRRRRAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"**

**HATE_SOPHIA_HATEHATE_HATEHATEKILLKILLKILL_**

**Struggle.**

**Pain.**

**Behelits.**

**Pain.**

**Apostles.**

**Pain.**

**Armor.**

**_Pain._**

**_GriffithSophia._**

**_HATE_**

**_KILL_**

– the armor rippled over me, bringing all these visions and feelings, forming itself into a collar around my neck as I flailed and screamed without a voice.

Everything went black as a red-flavored howl of **vengeance** and **hate** tore through my mind.

[IRON]

_'– ING!_'

The locker gave way with a screaming screech of tearing iron as my sight became swamped in red and black. I felt the iron molding itself around me as I fell toward the ground, tearing through the insects that were trying to eat my flesh and smearing their squishy corpses against my body –

_PAIN._

– and then I felt blades punching into my hands and knees, keeping them from shattering completely when I use them to break my fall.

Not that I minded much at all, because all I could feel was **_hate_**, a tearing gnashing of teeth that rose up my spine and wrapped around me in a vicious cloak of copper-flavored red and black; in mere seconds, the violence of the armor forming around me stilled, and became warm and comforting, like a pair of thick arms encircling me, as though telling me, **_Don't worry. I'll guard you. I'll protect you_**.**_ I'll help you fight._**

Or, maybe it _did_ tell me that, but I was too angry to really hear it clearly; that, and I was reaching for more iron. The lockers around me/us weren't the best of materials, too flimsy and poorly made, but, well, that's one of the downsides when it comes to mass-production; quantity at the expense of quality.

It offended me for some reason. An itch made itself known; I wanted to start replacing the flimsy lockers with better quality ones. Something I'd have to work on later, once I had more resources… and figured out why it felt like something was _missing…_

I didn't have a weapon. **Hate** and **shame** ran through my blood, right before I used the claws of the Berserker Armor to tear some more metal away from the row of lockers. A check of a nearby classroom produced a few other odds and ends that allowed me to start fashioning a rough attempt at the Eagle's Claw.

It was the simplest high-tier weapon I could make with the lack of materials at hand: no forge, no hammers, no tongs or anvil or _anything,_ really, aside from the flimsy, poorly forged iron I'd torn off the wall, and my fists. It wasn't the best metal, but a little elbow grease and the power the Armor lent me would ensure the Claw functioned as it should.

Good thing the floor was stone, too, and the Armor gave me greater strength than I had before, or any attempt would've been for nothing.

That must've been a sight: a rail-thin armored jackal hammering and folding slabs of metal with its hands at a frenetic pace, crafting a wicked blade in the middle of an unused classroom. I didn't fucking care how I looked, though; I needed protection, more than what the Armor gave me, and the Talon would allow me to fight off threats, as well as deal with… with…

_Sophia…_

Through the shadowy red of my vision, and the roaring of my blood in my ears, I heard the screeching growl of **HATE** that left my maw at the reminder of what'd befell me mere moments ago. The laughter. The _locker_. The mocking words.

I was going to _kill that fucking **bitch!**_

Taking up the still-glowing-hot Eagle's Claw (it was sharp and strong enough for dealing with all but the strongest threats; not bad for a thirty-minute effort), I stalked toward the exit to the room I'd forged my blade in, violence on my mind…

A rumble left my stomach, sounding like an avalanche.

…Food first. _Then_ I could wipe that fucking bitch off my gear and the face of the Earth, not necessarily in that order.

Shouldering the Claw, I darted away and down stairs with the wind whistling in my ears. I tried to make as little sound as possible, but, on the ground floor, I heard a distorted voice spouting gibberish.

The Armor locked up and tensed at my hesitation, preparing to defend us from whatever threat the speaker might pose; someone started running, away from me. Good. The Eagle's Claw wasn't done yet; I needed better, sturdier metal for the finishing touches.

A glance about showed me the coast was clear. The Berserker Armor let out a growl of impatience; it wanted a fight, to rip and tear. I growled back an appeasement: we'd get a fight soon enough. I needed to finish the Eagle's Claw and eat something filling, if we wanted to win.

It agreed, and we started running again.

The scent of food brought me to the cafeteria. Shadows in my vision shifted, their forms sinister and ugly to my eyes, making distressed shrieking sounds behind the metal and glass counters. I roared at them, waving the unfinished Claw in warning as my stomach made another protest. The shadows fled around me, or out another entrance, still shrieking.

Ignoring the ugly things, I leapt nimbly over the counter and set the blade down on a metal cart; stainless steel, _much_ better.

Spotting some offerings of food, I walked over; granola bars and other breakfast-related items. Before I could select something myself, the Armor took over and started scarfing down any food in arm's reach; a mushy feeling surrounded me as the jackal-headed helm shredded a few dozen muffins, bringing back the feeling of being in the _locker_ for the few seconds it was there.

Interestingly, it started shifting toward my mouth, and I understood: the Berserker Armor was treating me like a baby bird, chewing my food before directing it to me. A lick showed me it wasn't too tasty, a bit metallic, but it would be filling enough.

While I ate the slurry, the Armor took over finishing the Claw for a few minutes at my orders. I wanted the Claw better able to defend and attack, and the metal in the cafeteria kitchens was of a better make than the lockers I'd used for the base. A few moments of clawing, heating on a stove, and folding, and the Armor had the ingots the blade required for the next stage of forging.

This was how I spent the next five minutes, slowly drinking the slurry that, to my annoyance, wasn't very tasty at all, while the Armor hammered our fists away at the Eagle's Claw; on the other hand, the spikes that'd pierced my body started retracting into the Armor while I ate.

Maybe I had a regeneration ability? I obviously had powers, now. They seemed to be centered on the creation of bladed weapons, armors, and shields… no, wait, there were hammers and maces in that weird hall from my vision, too. I had the feeling that something came before the hall, but I couldn't remember it.

Probably not important.

So I could make melee weapons, armor and shields. Some of the things in that weird hall, like… Masamune, and Dragon Slayer, and Suncrusher (a hammer whose head looked like the Sun's surface) made the Eagle's Claw look pedestrian.

Not that the Claw was a slouch. It could cut through anything but the toughest of armors, and doubled as a shield, but compared to Gramr or Senbonzakura, it wasn't all that amazing.

But I couldn't forge Gramr or Senbonzakura without special materials, and making something like Dragon Slayer or Masamune would take _weeks_, if not months, to complete.

It was as I completed this thought that I heard a commotion outside, drawing my attention from my forging, eating, and musing. More shadows had arrived, and some of these were making loud and violent noises.

The Claw was done… well, it wasn't _done_ done, but it would serve until I found a proper forge and got my hands on some coal for the carbonized steel process.

I plunged the blade into a nearby cold room to quench the heat and make sure the metal bonded in just the right way to maximize the blade's durability; once it was done, I shook it to dislodge any imperfect bits and lunged over the counters to confront the first shadow, which pointed a blocky… machine? The red and black swirls were making it hard to tell, so I snarled at them and brandished my newly finished sword; the warning worked on the other shadows, so-

_BANG-BANG!_

**_PAIN_**

**I screamed. The Armor screamed with me, and joined me in attacking the offending shadow.**


	2. Design 2

**IRON**

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**Design 1.2**

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Sophia felt satisfied. Hebert had been shown her place, in such a way that she wouldn't soon forget. _'__Maybe now she'll get the hint and go away! Leave the school to us _real_girls, go back to her cardboard box forever…'_

After getting captured by the PRT, Shadow Stalker _apparently_ needed a little 'reeducation' and got shipped off to a camp run by Alexandria; Sophia didn't learn anything that would've helped her on returning to the mean streets of Brockton that her predatory nature didn't already have, except one thing:

_Everyone has a breaking point_.

So Sophia hid her victorious smirk as the Lit teacher droned on about something stupid; if _this_ prank didn't break Hebert, the ultimate sheep, then Sophia was going to have to find something closer to the skinny bitch's heart and break _that_ instead. Everyone had a limit to the shit they could take, she just needed to find Hebert's.

Once the sheep finally broke, and if the bitch did something stupid like lash out later today, when they let the string bean out of her locker, Sophia and Emma would make sure her stay in juvey was nice and long. After an ass-kicking of course. Maybe _then_ the stupid, ugly nerd would take the hint and get out of Winslow.

Until then, Sophia content herself with admiring some of the non-ganger eye candy around her. The class Sophia deigned to attend was necessary for her track career, but that didn't stop it from being boring as shit, in the new Ward's eyes.

Luckily, there _were_ a couple beefy boys here. Maybe Emma and Mads could put one of their social things together, Sophia mused to herself while eyeing one of the beefcake's shoulders, a mall trip or someth-

**…****hate…**

The teacher's droning voice hitched. Everyone in the class flinched, even Sophia, who began looking around frantically, thinking, _'__The fuck?! Is Glory Girl here?' _The New Wave flying brick was the only cape Stalker knew who could make emotional effects over range… besides Gallant, anyway, but her interfering little shit of a 'teammate' needed line of sight for that to work.

"O-okay, everyone stay calm," the teacher, Mr. Newhouse, who looked like he should've stayed in the 70s, warbled stupidly after quelling the distress of Sophia's classmates, "I'll call the main office and-" he was interrupted by the PA system crackling to life.

_"__All staff and students, please begin emergency evacuation procedures,"_ came the slightly panicked (to Sophia's ears) voice of one of the main office clerks, _"__An unknown Parahuman is in the building. The PRT has been notified and is on the way to contain them; please proceed to the evacuation points in a calm and orderly fashion."_

While everyone else began getting up and/or protesting that they couldn't get their coats, Sophia took advantage of the distractions and checked her Wards phone; there was a text from Miss Militia: _Do not try to engage the cape or draw attention to yourself. We're on the way._

Well, Sophia wasn't going to argue with that; she may have _wanted_ to fuck up the asshole or bitch that decided to walk all over _Shadow Stalker's _stomping ground, but Sophia didn't have her costume, crossbows, or arrows, and she didn't know what this cape's power was… beyond that feeling of _hate _that came out of nowhere.

So she followed the other, far more jittery students in her class as they made their way to the nearest exit, close to the cafeteria; a mischievous idea formed in Sophia's mind, then, as they approached the room in question: '_Hey, maybe I can slip away for a few seconds, grab some sodas for Emma and Mads while we go by, have some drinks while we watch the show.'_

After all, she mused with a sly grin as the group came to the cafeteria hallway, where some shouting was coming from, it wasn't like she had to _pay_ for the things, what with her pow-

**HATE**

The latest burst of existential **hate** was a _lot_ stronger than the first, seemed to come from _right in front of them_, and nearly made Sophia piss herself with its suddenness. She also felt like she almost swallowed her tongue, so fast did she try to gulp in reflexive fear in the feeling's wake.

Unfortunately, she didn't have a clear line of sight with the entrance to the cafeteria, where the burst came from; not for the first time, Sophia cursed her shortness… for all of one second, as everyone else in her group seemed more frightened than her. One of the other girls outright screamed and tried to run, but was grabbed by one of the guys.

_BANG-BANG_ went two gunshots, ear-ringing loud in the hallway. One of the big guys in front of Sophia flinched and jumped back with a curse, allowing her to examine the scene while she tried to clear the muffled ringing in her head.

Two of the rent-a-cops were backing away cautiously from the open cafeteria door, while a third was aiming a smoking gun into the entrance, looking like he was trying to decide whether or not he should fire again; belatedly, Sophia remembered that the security guards weren't supposed to be carrying _guns!_ They used pepper spray, knightsticks, and handcuffs! So, Sophia figured with a sneering glare, that moron would _probably_ lose his job, even if he managed to take the cape do-

**_HATEBLOODLUSTHATE_**

Around the sound of rusty nails dragging over glass, what looked like the cruelest meat cleaver ever made _flew_ out of the cafeteria, slammed into the rent-a-cop…

And nailed his body to the wall with a wet_squelch_.

His gun clattered to the floor, cut in two by the flying sword, but Sophia never really heard or saw that, because the cleaver's owner chose that moment to appear in a blur of black and red and reclaim its weapon… by grabbing the handle and ripping the cleaver downward through their victim's groin with another terrible blast of **HATE** and a shower of blood, organs and viscera that spilled thickly over the floor and sent everyone in the hallway into a panicked rout with extra screaming and a side of weaker stomachs evacuating their contents.

In an instant of indecisiveness, wondering whether she should flee with the sheep or go in another direction, like _phase through the fucking wall and run like hell_, Sophia committed the sight of the murderous cape to memory:

A skeletally thin-looking _creature_ made of jagged black metal, partially shrouded in wisps of black smoke, their head being that of a snarling red-eyed jackal with _too many teeth_ for Sophia's tastes. In the thing's hand was its bloodied weapon, serrated down one edge and a smooth, wickedly sharp cleaver blade on the other side, ending in a vicious-looking hook near the tip.

The creature stepped away from its kill, glaring at the corpse like it'd offended it somehow. But that wasn't what scared the _fuck _out of Sophia.

What scared her was the thing's posture; everything about the ebony beast _screamed_ 'predator' to her mind. This was a bigger wolf than she could handle, _especially_ without her fucking crossbows.

Sodas forgotten, Sophia was about to bolt and follow her class, who were making for the nearest exit as fast as they could while the thing in the hallway dithered…

But then it looked at her.

Each of its eyes were two streaks of **red**, so deep they put blood to shame.

It looked at Sophia, like _Behemoth_ had looked at her in early December…

**HATEFURYBLOODLUSTHATEHA****_TEHATEHATEHATEFURY_**

And let out a nightmare-inducing _scream_ before lunging at her, blade cocked back for a sweeping slash.

Panicking, Sophia phased through a nearby wall and _kept going_, ignoring the horrified screams behind her, her entire mind focusing on _getting away, getting __**far**__ away from that __**monster**_.

CRASH! CRASH!

Which had decided to pursue her _through the walls_. _'__OH COME THE FUCK ON! WHERE'S THE BACKUP, GODDAMNIT?!'_

**_HATEHATEHATEHATEHATE_**

And it clearly had some kind of beef with her, not that Sophia cared much.

She'd just made it outside, after all. Armsmaster's bike had just pulled up, with the hero himself leaping off his vehicle and hopping the chain-link fence that surrounded the play fields in a single bound, drawing a Halberd with a deft movement. Sophia was already running that way, her lungs burning and her eyes watering with spine-chilling _fear_.

Why the fuck was it after _her?!_

**_HATEHATEHATEHATEHATE_**

_BOOM!_

Sophia stumbled and nearly fell at the sound of one of Winslow's stone walls being breached by the avatar of hatred following her; chancing a glance over her shoulder as her panic rose up into her throat, Sophia **saw it**, marching out of the dust and rubble, shaking its head to clear some dust from its metal ears.

And then it spotted her again.

Those jagged teeth filling its mouth seemed to _grin_.

**HATE****_SATISFACTION_****HATE**

It was then that Sophia realized…

_The monster was hunting her. It was hunting her and __**enjoying it!**_

She screamed and scrambled frenetically away toward Armsmaster, running for her life as the Protectorate leader rushed toward her; every blast of negative emotion seemed to pile up in her mind, giving her a good impression of the justification behind that blinding **hate**: it _hated_ Sophia, _hated_ everything about her, and it wouldn't stop chasing her until she was _dead as the security guard._

_'__I need my bows! Fuck the tranqs, I'll let Armsy fight this bastard so I can get my steel bolts from the stash! _Nobody_makes __**me**__ run away! Nobod-'_

_KEEEEEEE –_ whatever that was, it was behind Sophia, and getting louder _fast_.

Armsmaster flew past her in a blue-white blur.

_CLANGGGG!_

**_RAGEHATERAGEHATE_**

Sophia didn't stop until she was at the fence that divided the play fields (more like mud fields, usually, but winter had hardened the ground, _thank fuck_) she'd been running through from the sidewalk, where a good cross-section of Winslow was watching the clash behind her with cellphone and wide, fearful eyes.

Grabbing the fence, Sophia took a few seconds to regain her breath, during which she spotted a clearly scared-shitless Emma beckoning to her on the other side of the street.

Feeling some small relief at having gotten away from the _monster_, Sophia swung herself up and over the fence. Two steps later, having waved with a smile to Emma, she spun around to check out the source of all the clanging and banging –

And something sharp _slapped_ into her stomach, knocking Sophia off her feet and onto her back in the middle of the street. Someone screamed.

_'__Wha…'_ There was a rusty, ugly knife sticking out of her gut.

**SATISFACTION**

_Hssss… the knife dissolved._

And then everything was **PAIN**.


	3. Design 3

**IRON**

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**Design 1.3**

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Armsmaster hadn't been in his lab when the call went out. It was probably the only reason there weren't more casualties, he'd later report.

He'd been out on a post-morning-briefing patrol, mostly as a way to try and relieve his headache after dealing with the Director's most recent rant about the Merchants and their obsession over making sure there was nothing sacred in the city.

_Why_ Skidmark thought trying to flog his spurious goods to _kindergarteners _was a good idea baffled Colin; then again, the man (and he used that term loosely) was the very definition of crazy.

It wasn't _that_ event that ended up getting the Director's panties in a twist, though. No, that was the Merchant's response to the PRT cracking down on their activities: to interrupt the Bay's New Year's celebrations with one of Squealer's newest abominations. This time she tried to combine a 60's Dodge transit van with what Colin thought _might_ have once been a backhoe, then painted the thing in glittery _pink_.

And that wasn't even touching the…_ahem_… _inspirational messages_ written on the sides, and the less said about the _images_, the better.

At least Dauntless managed to destroy the fucking thing, but the Merchants had, _once again_, escaped capture.

_That_ was what Piggot was mad about. That the druggies had managed to pull one over on the PRT and Protectorate in such a public fashion was an embarrassment of the highest order, and if Colin wanted a nice big budget for the coming year, he'd better pull something out of his ass _or else_.

Sure, the Director used more words, but most of them… well, he couldn't repeat them around Vista, _shouldn't_ repeat them around Clockblocker, and, overall, just ended up wasting a good forty minutes of his morning, which Colin _could've_ used as an opportunity to put the finishing touches on his lie detector. Or work on any other of his _very important _Tinkering projects.

Cue the resultant headache at her order to make himself visible for the next few days, as a PR move that would ensure the public stayed happy and content and didn't start protesting outside the PRT building due to accusations of the Protectorate's 'incompetence'. Her words, not Armsmaster's.

In fact, he'd felt that the clash went rather well; no bystanders were injured, the Merchants were routed without much fuss, and none of the other gangs had gotten involved.

If it wasn't for the fact that the newest Ward, Kid Win, ended up having to replace his armor after getting a one-two hit from both Skidmark and Squealer, and that Stalker didn't back him up immediately, resulting in the Merchants making a getaway, the Director wouldn't have had anything to complain about. But there it was.

So now Colin had to present himself to the world; not an issue. His latest armor pattern was just finished yesterday, with all the odds and ends and countermeasures he'd need if he came across any of the villains in the Bay (and a few others as well; you never knew when the Teeth or Nine might get feisty), so this patrol gave him a good excuse to put it on and field test some of its passive features. Two Halberds, one for capture and one for heavy takedowns, were mag-locked to his back.

And, of course, he still had his motorcycle. He was out in the world, looked every part the victorious hero that he _most certainly_ was, and, so long as public opinion swung back in the PRT and Protectorate's favor, he'd have a nice bonus to his Tinker budget come February. So he couldn't complain much, despite feeling like this was a waste of his precious time; he had six projects to complete, and the next Endbringer fight was only 2 months away at least.

Hence his headache, which dulled once his radio buzzed to life.

All in all, if he'd stayed in the downtown area on a foot-beat, rather than patrol the unofficial-but-observed PRT-Empire border on his vehicle of choice…

The situation in Winslow might've been much worse.

_"__Console to Armsmaster, over,"_ Velocity's voice came through Colin's radio as he passed within sight of Captain's Hill; the Tinker in question frowned at the tenseness in his fellow hero's tone. It'd been such a quiet morning, too.

"You've got Armsmaster," replied Colin even as he used the uplink in his armor to check the BBPD frequencies; there were a lot of 911 and PRT Hotline calls being made… "…over."

_"__We've got a bunch of calls coming in from Winslow High School,"_ reported Velocity needlessly, as Colin had already triangulated the majority of the call's origins; he opened the throttle and turned on the sirens while his coworker gave him the details, _"__So far, it looks like a Tinker or Breaker with an emotional Shaker effect. They're evacuating the school, and three PRT Squads are en route with MM, over."_

Colin's reply was brief and gruff, "Copy. ETA: two minutes. What makes them think it's a Tinker, over?"

_"__Armored person carrying a, and I quote, 'big fucking sword', over," _elaborated Velocity, the clatter of a computer keyboard underlying his words, before he added, _"__I'll keep an eye on PHO, see if any of the students post anythi-yep, already got a thread saying there's an attack at the school, over."_

Bringing up the relevant page while swerving through an intersection, Colin noted the panicked tone to the post; _'__Whatever it is, it feels really fucking angry! Send help!'_ was the actual statement/plead for assistance.

He sped up.

Thirty seconds out, a notification popped up: Shadow Stalker had activated the distress beacon on her phone. "Dragon," Colin growled, dodging a moving truck.

A green light appeared in the upper left of his HUD, accompanied by his friend's voice, _"__I'm triangulating it now… she's near the cafeteria. If you pull up by the sport's field entrance, it'll give you a direct route to her."_ His GPS provided the most efficient route.

"Thank you, Dragon," he replied tersely, steeling himself for what might be a pitched fight even as he sent an automated message to the Director, requesting she extend contact to New Wave for assistance. Stalker, for all her belligerence and disregard for the rules, was no slouch in a fight, and didn't scare easily; if this unknown villain was causing her to panic, it meant one of two things.

Either the cape was that powerful, or its Shaker effect was extremely potent.

As such, aerial support in the form of Blasters, along with Glory Girl's Alexandria package, would only even the odds against this unknown threat. It irked Colin to ask for help, but only an idiot would fight, one on one, a cape bold enough to attack a school in _his_ city.

Pulling up to Winslow, Armsmaster observed the situation: the PRT trucks were already there and escorting the students and faculty across the street from the front door, directed by Hannah, who was toting a grenade launcher, loaded with con-foam no doubt; the children and the adults both looked on the verge of panic – and then Colin spotted Sophia Hess bolting across the sports field as though Behemoth himself was after her.

_THOOM!_

Then the wall she'd just phased through (no one was in the line of sight but him, thank Scion) exploded outward, the shockwave unbalancing Hess and making her stumble. She looked over her shoulder at the dust cloud as Armsmaster leapt off his bike (which was programmed to park itself) and called it in, "Contact, moving to engage!"

Out of the cloud stepped an armored figure; their visage gave the impression of a black jackal with four red slashes for eyes. In their hand, they carried a cleaver-like blade that was nearly as tall as they were; it had blood on it, and looked designed to cause maximum pain and suffering for its victims.

Then Colin's Tinker ability went off.

_Iron/steel composition. 22% more durable than comparable carbon-steel composites. Rush job, recently made. Current loadout material/constructions have 12% chance of surviving repeated blows from this weapon without extreme damage._

So they were a Tinker, and his armor wouldn't be able to hold off the blade they'd created. Funny how he wasn't getting anything from the armor…

The villain shook itself (Colin couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman), and looked to Hess, who was still trying to find her feet.

**HATE****_SATISFACTION_****HATE**

Armsmaster leapt over the fence and ran toward Sophia, who let out a scream of terror and ran toward him, the unknown Tinker pursuing… for only three steps.

Then the villain drew their blade back, like they were going to throw it; Colin quickly activated his experimental Predictive Combat Suite and drew his heavy-duty Halberd.

_KEEEEEEEEE!_ The villain's sword sounded like a screaming eagle as it flew, spinning toward a blindly panicking Stalker's back.

Armsmaster moved past her, saw the path the blade would take, planted his feet firmly and swatted the cleaver aside with a deafening _CLANG!_

It felt like he'd just parried a vault door, his shoulders and back screaming in protest. An automated process injected a painkiller and mild regenerative reagent into his bloodstream, another subroutine starting the self-repair feature of his armor, because half his shock absorbers nearly overloaded just from knocking that damn sword aside!

_'__This won't be easy.'_

**_HATERAGEHATERAGE_**

With a scream like tearing metal, the unknown Tinker darted across the field; Colin sent a con-foam grenade into their path, with another launched where the sword would land; another kick of a leg and they dodged the first projectile and reclaimed their blade; the second grenade was slapped aside by the flat of the cleaver while Colin moved between the villain and Stalker's fleeing form.

The armored being performed an acrobatic move that placed them outside the containment foam's area of effect, landing on their feet and readying the sword (an Eastern horse-sword, a text blurb from Dragon supplied) in a clearly hostile stance.

"Are you gonna fight me?" he growled, blink-clicking two icons; combat stimulants and emotional suppressants flooded his veins. Better to take no chances than get caught off-guard, a lesson hard-learned from the likes of Lung and Hookwolf.

**_RAGEBLOODLUSTHATE_**

With that, the being charged at him, their weapon in a two-handed grip. Colin twirled his Halberd and met them head-on.

It nearly cost him his life.

Their first exchange felt formal, as formal as a melee between an emotionless hero and a raging villain could get, anyway; a test of each other's measure, a dance as old as battle itself.

Colin led with a feint toward the unknown's head before extending a graphene lance and aiming for a knee, hoping to hobble the villain and make them more susceptible to capture.

They ignored the feint completely, hopped onto his Halberd as he swung low, and swung that giant cleaver at his neck; Colin managed to lean back enough to keep from getting his head taken off, but the hook at the end of the cleaver still managed to dig a groove in his armor.

Twisting the Halberd, he remotely sent a 12-thousand-volt shock through it even as he swung it upward to dislodge his surprisingly nimble opponent, but the cape had already back-flipped off and landed, coming in for another punishing one-handed strike, their other hand curled into a twitching fist.

_'__So that's how it is,' _thought Colin as he backpedaled away from the strike, using his Brute weapon to keep the villain at a safe distance, and pulled his capture-oriented Halberd with his left hand, sending a wide stream of con-foam from the butt of the weapon as soon as it unfolded; the unknown villain broke off their assault and ended around on his right, either trying for a brutal flanking maneuver or to continue their pursuit of Stalker.

But Colin expected that, and fired another foam grenade into their path as his radio reported that Assault and Battery had entered the school and were investigating the damage, trying to figure out where this armored terror came from; a blurb in the corner of his visor reported most of the Wards were still being mobilized, but Glory Girl and Panacea were already en route with Aegis, with the rest of New Wave had costumed up and were getting ready to interfere. Dauntless appeared in the sky, Arclance and shield already up as he landed near Miss Militia to get a sitrep.

Colin smirked; this villain picked the wrong city to attack.

Then his opponent swatted the foam grenade right back at him; he dodged right, trying to keep himself between the villain and the crowd across the street-

Their fist opened, revealing a small throwing knife that looked covered in rust.

_Taken from our armor. Tinker-tech. Unknown purpose, likely lethal._

Listening to his power, Colin sealed his helmet's exposed lower half with an annoyed snarl, moving to attack again while the unknown villain backpedaled, swiping their cleaver around to keep him away, even as they parried a long-range debilitating shot from Miss Militia without looking at her; how _dare_ they use his armor against him! Well, they wouldn't find Armsmaster wanting-

They threw the knife… _at Stalker_, who'd just turned around to look at the action from the middle of the blocked-off street, the PRT Agents that were moving to cover her retreat not close enough to stop the flying blade.

His armor hadn't picked up any tells that _she_ was the target!

Sophia Hess was knocked onto her back, in the middle of the street, right as Glory Girl and Aegis arrived with Panacea; a bare second later, the fallen girl's back arched and she _screamed_, like she was being flayed alive.

Now quite peeved at his opponent's ruthlessness, Colin stabbed out with his graphene blade, only to have it swatted aside, the armored teeth of the villain's helm seeming to grin in victory.

**SATISFACTION**

"Bastard," he growled, launching a net from his left Halberd and a cluster of flash-bang missiles from the other; the jackal-helmed villain dodged both with a nimbleness they'd not previously displayed-

And the net wrapped around Dauntless, who'd been trying for a tried-and-true pincer takedown. Luckily, the missiles missed his flailing and cursing teammate; he'd be fine, Colin felt, and Dauntless proved this by starting to cut his way out with the Arclance. Colin stabbed out at the villain, but they seemed to be retreating, resorting to simply slapping his attacks aside or dodging them like they'd seen it coming, much to his frustration.

_'__A combat Thinker. Of _course_they're a combat Thinker.'_

BANG! Miss Militia had manifested a Barret .50 with a shortened barrel, and was firing from the fence with fire in her eyes; Colin moved to re-engage the cape in the fraction of a second after the shot was fired-

_PING-CRACK!_ And the fucking villain used their sword to deflect the bullet into Armsmaster's chest, slowing him for just a second, which proved long enough for them to leap over a pile of con-foam and out of sight.

Glory Girl streaked past with a cast-iron bench held in her hands, pulled back for a devastating blow, screaming, "Pick on someone your own size!"

She swung the bench downward while Colin moved around to flank the villain on the left, Miss Militia moving along the wall of the school on the right, trying to line up another shot. PRT Agents and the adult members of New Wave were getting into position on the other side of the field.

The bench stopped with a low _clang._

And then Armsmaster watched as the bench swung downward and out of sight, taking a surprised Glory Girl with it. He tore around the pile of foam as the ground shook from the teenage heroine's impact-

Just in time to see the black-armored fiend stomp on the blonde's left knee, breaking the limb at a horrific angle.

**_RAGE_****ANNOYANCE****_HATE_**

He fired a grappling hook at them with his left Halberd, keeping the graphene blade in reserve for a follow-up blow, but instead of standing around and waiting for New Wave to exact vengeance, or for Miss Militia to get into position, the villain ground their foot into Glory Girl's broken limb, drawing an agonized wail from the Brute/Mover, and bolted…

Right under Armsmaster's grappling hook, darting into his unprotected left and slicing off the head of his capture Halberd with a smooth strike from their dread blade; panicking, Colin, tried to angle his remaining Halberd to stab them in the shoulder, hoping to crack or break their collarbone and render the use of that crude sword impossible. The villain let him.

The graphene blade sliced into their left shoulder, a shallow but certainly painful laceration at least, but no blood came out of the groove in the pauldron.

A _mountain_ crashed into his thigh, upending the leader of the local Protectorate. Warning lights lit up all over his HUD as Colin grit his teeth on meeting the ground, shouts of alarm, anger and Glory Girl's continuing agonized screams coming numbly to his ringing ears.

His femur and knee had shattered from the hit, and his pelvis was covered in hairline fractures, all the shock absorbers and padding in his armor doing next-to-nothing to mitigate the crippling blow; the vibrations from the impact had destroyed or damaged more of his armor's sensors and self-repair implants than he could easily fix in the field.

Dauntless arrived at his side, the younger man's voice clearly worried, "Armsmaster! You good?"

Through teeth gritted with pain, Colin crouched on his good knee and looked around before growling, "Where did they go? Why didn't you pursue them?" Lady Photon and her two children were hovering in a loose formation a few blocks away, but their movements looked aimless.

"They fucked off right after they knocked you down, sir," disgust colored his teammate's report as Armsmaster slowly rose; the contingencies in his armor, for the self-repair routines going offline, were coming online, allowing Colin (with another small dose of painkiller) to rise and hear the rest of Dauntless' report, "Broke right through the line of Troopers waiting for them and disappeared into the sewers. Kid Win spotted the flying manhole as he was coming up with Gallant. Damn Brutes…" he finished in a heated mutter.

"Shit. We have to find them, before they make more weapons," Colin ground out, glancing at Glory Girl, who, even though Panacea had arrived at her side and healed her wounds, was still crying; Miss Militia was running over, shouting something at Panacea about more wounded in the school, when Colin's day got one _thousand_ times worse.

_"__Boss."_ Assault's voice was steel, the sound of Battery retching in the background underscoring the redeemed hero's obvious anger, _"__I think I found where the cape came from."_

At first, Armsmaster thought this was a good thing, "Report, Assault. What've you found?"

An image was sent to his helmet from Assault's visor camera. He opened it.

…A row of lockers, the metal having been torn away by what looked like claws… except for the one in the middle.

Blood, shit, bugs, and _used feminine waste products_ littered the floor in front of the destroyed locker. Bloody footprints, matching the boots of the cape Colin had just fought, marched away from the morass.

_"__If this isn't a Trigger Event,"_ Assault growled, obviously pissed, and Armsmaster couldn't blame him, _"__I'll eat my helmet."_

Armsmaster's stomach plummeted, watching Dauntless' face pale in realization: it wasn't a villain they'd just fought, but a possible new Trigger, who'd most likely been confused and angry…

…_Shadow Stalker…_

Colin resisted the urge to facepalm; instead, he just gripped his undamaged Halberd tighter, "_God. __**Damn. It**__._"


	4. Design 4

**IRON**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Design 1.4**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**_I screamed. The armor screamed with me, and joined me in attacking the offending shadow._**

**_THROW._**

**_/Already _****_over?/_**

**'****_The shit, he could've at least _****tried****_ to dodge, the FUCKER!'_**

**Annoyed at our first opponent dying before I could work off all this ****_fury_****, we leapt forward and grabbed my weapon.**

**_TEAR._**

**_/Hmph!/'Hmph!'_**

**The shadow slumped to the floor after I reclaimed our weapon. An easy victory.**

**Then it hits me, my chest hurts. **_'__**Ow ow oww**__w, what the __**fuck **__got me?!'_ **Two cold spikes were punched into me when that **machine**barked, breaking two ribs and cracking another on my right breast, they'd gone about an inch into my lung…**

_'__A gun. I've been shot! MOTH__**ERFUCKER**__!'_

**_/We fine. Saved us./_**

**Oh. I could actually feel the wounds healing, little by little, but it still hurt. I grit my teeth and glared at the shadow that did it. I could deal….**

**But if this day got any worse, I'd have to tear this ****_cesspit _****of a school down. Might still do that, actually, and the Armor agreed with an audible snarl; place was a dump, and the ****_locker_**** just made my time here worse.**

**So… find Sophia, bash her skull in, go home, talk to Dad, get a lawyer (because I'd just killed a guy and was fixing to kill someone ****_else_**** who deserved it), explain the situation over a warm cup of tea, and all this would blow over in-**

**Movement that didn't match the other shadows caught my eye: a smoky substance, different from the other shadows around me.**

**The Armor looked with me.**

**We ****_recognized it!_**

**_'_****_SOPHIA!'/KILL!/_**

**I threw myself at her with a scream of HATRED; she had nowhere to run or hide ****_now!_**

**A small, timid part of me wondered if I was doing the right thing, but I quashed it; I was only going to kill her ****_a little_****, nothing serious at all! **

**I mean, she ****_did_**** try to kill ****_me_**** first, so I'd just pay her back by ****_cutting her arms and legs off before turning her ribs to broken glass!_**

**Swiping my sword through where she'd been standing, shocked doesn't even ****_begin_**** to cover what I felt when the fucking bitch ****_turned to smoke and slipped through the wall._**

**_'_****_The FUCK?!'/GRAAAAAH!/_**

**Oh, and we'd cut a couple bystanders, but they weren't hurt fatally, so I ignored them. There were more pressing matters at hand.**

**Like offing the apparently ****_super-powered _****_bitch who tried to kill me!_**

**Flipping the Claw around deftly into a reverse grip, pommel facing up, we plowed it into and ****_through_**** the wall (and the support strut, ow my ****_elbow_****) and, with another primal scream of HATE from the Armor, I pursued our quarry; that'd probably take a minute, so I gritted my teeth against the pain of bashing through walls and considered what we'd just seen.**

**_'_****_She turned to smoke-_**

**_/KILL!/_**

**_-so… who does something like-_**

**_/KILL!/_**

**_-that?… _****wait a fucking second****_!_**

**_/RIP! TEAR! KILL!/_**

**_Shadow Stalker?! Height, figure, holy shit, _****the way she-**

**_/HATRED! RIP! TEAR!/_**

**_-_****fucking ****_walks?! SOPHIA HESS-_**

**_/RIP AND TEAR!/ _**

**_-IS SHADOW STALKER?!'_**

**Oh hell the fuck ****_no. _**

**The fucking ****_PRT_**** knew what was going on here, my bullying situation, ****_Winslow_****; they had Thinkers, and people devoted to investigating Parahumans, Shadow Stalker was a vigilante before she became a Ward!**

**If they ****_didn't_**** know what she'd been doing to me for the past years…**

**If they were ****_that_**** incompetent, I'd just express my ****_extreme displeasure_**** to ****_HESS_**** and beat the everloving ****_fuck _****out of anyone or thing that got in my way!**

**Spotting Armsmaster running to help a fleeing ****_HESS_**** only crystalized that desire, to fight and fight ****_hard_****; that little bitch wasn't going to slip through my claws, and Captain 1000-Flushes-Blue over there wasn't going to stop me!**

**I flung the Claw, ****_'SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR LEGS YOU – OH COME ON!' _**

**_/OH, IT'S ON _****NOW****_, YOU INTERFERING BASTARD!/_**

**He was actually kind of good with that Halberd/****_Fuck no he isn't! KILL!_****/, parrying the thrown Claw like that… and Sophia was getting away!**

**_'_****_I need a ranged weapon!' _****I thought as we squared up against the blue fuck, who spouted something that sounded like a challenge,****_ 'Can't fight this asshole and fuck up Sophia at the same time! I need some metal!'_**

**_/Coming right up./_**

**Some metal dropped into my hand after our first exchange with BeardTinker; bare seconds later, the Armor seized around every part of my body except my left forearm and hand, directing my body's movements in combat while I examined Assmaster's offering.**

[Titanium/Tungsten/Carbonite ceramic composite. Quality: 5.2/10]

**_'_****_Seriously?! This guy's been around since forever and _****this****_ is the best he can do?! I made a Quality 7 sword in less than an _****hour****_!'_**

**_/YOU GONNA CRAFT SOMETHIN' OR WHAT?!/_**

**Jeez, my armor had a set of pipes on it; while it guided my body through increasingly painful acrobatic moves as it toyed with Mr. I-Fight-In-A-Deathtrap, I manipulated the shitty material of Armsmaster's armor into something that'd fuck Sophia's whole ****_year_**** up: a knife that, once I broke a lodestone-control bead (made from those crappy ceramic bits), would, if it was embedded in flesh, make the throwing knife dissolve into the victim's bloodstream.**

**Seconds after this happened, it would have filled the victim with tiny metal bits, which would make them feel like they'd been set on fire from the inside out; after one minute, each piece of metal that'd inevitably gotten stuck in flesh would start vibrating and pulling electricity from the victim's heart, weakening but not killing them.**

**If someone hadn't gotten those shards out by five minutes, each piece of microscopic metal would magnetize and start attracting their opposites, blending the victim's insides and turning them into a fleshy bag of charnel-y oatmeal.**

**All made on the fly while fighting Armsbluster, who I could tell was getting more and more frustrated by the Armor's resilience. Also, he was hitting us ****_hard_****; my arms, legs and back were ****_screaming_**** just from our parrying of his blows.**

**But that didn't matter; the knife was done. This fight was about to ****_end._**

**Opening my hand as Sophia made the fence and Glory Girl appeared above the skyline with Aegis and Panacea in tow (I presumed, their shadows seemed to match the pictures I'd seen; good for Sophia, she'd likely survive what was about to happen to her, much to ****_her_**** disappointment, ha!), I took a moment to savor Dumbmaster's obvious irritation at my making something from his ****_precious _****armor –**

**_'_****_GET FUCKED, SOPHIA!'_**

**_/GOT YOU, BITCH!/_**

**-and the Berserker Armor helped me aim that knife right into Sophia's guts! **

**_'_****_Boom! How'd that feel, you psycho fucking bitch?! Oh, and guess what?!'_** **I broke the bead, making Sophia scream like someone'd just shoved ****_her _****into a locker, ****_'IT GETS WORSE!'_**

**_/…Damn, that was – WOAH! NOT TODAY, BLUE FUCKER!/_**

**_'_****_Shit, more are_**_showing up,' _**vengeance had, I allowed myself to focus on the fight and calmly observe the situation: capes and military-looking shadows were all over the place, brandishing weapons and directing all their hate my way. Right after deflecting a bullet into Armstoddler's shitty cuirass, I leapt over a hill of some kind of foamy stuff and thought to the Armor,**_ '__We should probably fuck off now, before they call in the big guns.'_

**_/Yeah, one sec./_**_'__Uh, why?'_

"PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE!" **Was that a ****_park bench?!_**

_'__Oh.'__**/Yeah./**__'That's… not smart of her. Let's __**fuck her week up.'/Yes, ma'am!/**_

**And we fucked Glory Girl's whole week up for interrupting, catching the bench, hurling her into the ground and, with a sideways front-flip, landed on her knee, snapping it like a twig. **

**Stupid, annoying blonde, getting involved in a fight where she was totally outclassed; serves the bimbo right, bringing fists to a knife fight! **

**Swordfight…**

**A fight with ****_us._**** There it was.**

**Oh, and Halbeard was back, launching a big-ass (and ****_also_**** poorly-made, the half-assing fucker) claw at us; we dodged it easily, slicing through the offending weapon with ease and ducking into his guard – **

**_'_****_Oh, this is gonna hurt like a _****bitch****_…'_**

**_/SUCK IT UP./_**

**-my shoulder exploded in PAIN-**

**_'_****_MOTHERFUCKER!'_**

**-right before we turned Captain I-Use-Lego-For-Armor into a pinwheel, lashing him across the back of his thigh with the blunt(ish) side of the Eagle's Claw; he made two full rotations before landing on his face.**

**But the Armor had already taken over again, running us the hell off the battlefield while I tried not to think about the thudding, all-consuming pa**in radiating from my _definitely shattered _left shoulder or the feeling of spikes digging into my whole body.

Beardloser's blows, inexpert though they were compared to the Berserker Armor's capabilities, struck with enough force to crack bones. Which they did. Painfully.

So I tried not to think about it.

I… wasn't very successful.

**_'_****_SHIT! CUNT! BASTARD! CUCKING FUCKMOTHER OF SAURON,_**_WHYYYY!' _I mentally wailed.

**_/HOLD ON!/_**

There were things you could do in heavy armor, and jumping blindly down manholes while dodging lasers, bullets and more lasers, with a broken arm that's holding a 98-pound battle-cleaver, isn't something I'd recommend trying without professional assistance.

Hence why, when our landing delivered a full-body jolt, I passed out.

.

[IRON]

.

I came to with the smell of raw sewage cloying my nostrils and the feeling of something pulling at my hair.

**_/Hey! Hey, wake up!/_**

_'__Bluhhh,'_ I thought in response to the Armor; a small, raw part of my mind informed me that the Armor had a personality of its own, which would speak with me on occasion. So I wasn't too surprised at it talking to me.

Of greater concern was the continuing hammer-thud of _pain_ radiating from my left shoulder; it wasn't as bad as getting sliced open by… Armsmaster…

_'__Oh, this is such __**bullshit**__!'_ I thought with a snarl, pushing my face forward into the helm; a feeling of wary surprise tingled over my scalp before the red/black swirls of my surroundings shifted.

I was in the sewers still, perched like an iron gargoyle on a relatively dry ledge. Brickwork and cement vied for supremacy on the walls around me, tepid wastewater flowing in a trickling stream through a worn channel a few feet beneath my perch's edge.

And I was getting pissed off, **again**, _'__Shadow Stalker. Sophia fucking Hess is fucking _Shadow Stalker_, and the fucking PRT has been covering for her! What in all the fucks?!'_

I've read up on superheroes and the organization that oversees them since I was a less gawky and far more innocent girl than I am now, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and hoping for the day I'd stand side-by-side with Alexandria, saving the world from Endbringers and Nilbogs alike.

Since the death of Vikare, the first recorded Parahuman, the Four Pillars, Library of Alexandria, Legend, Eidolon and Hero (may he Tinker forever in heaven) have become the Triumvirate, one Endbringer has become three, and the PRT, once a privately-funded government organization dedicated to studying the causes behind and policing known Parahumans, has evolved into a military organization all its own, with a complex bureaucracy holding it up.

And the Triumvirate (Legend, specifically) created the Wards as a way for teenaged Parahumans, as pre-teens and teenagers manifested powers one order of magnitude more often than adults, to receive guidance, education, and practice with the beautiful and terrible abilities they had to live with, to put themselves forward as role models for each their respective age groups, and protect the common man from villainous Capes who would do them harm. Or so the Wiki page said.

Because, _obviously_, it didn't work that way in fucking practice!

Exhibit A: Sophia **motherfucking** Hess.

_Shadow Stalker._

Vigilante who, according to PHO surrendered willingly to the PRT and asked to become a Ward (probably a lie, given my nauseatingly personal exposure to the bitch); she was shipped off to a special training camp (which explained her absence at the beginning of the year) before returning, and had gotten nothing but good PR since.

Which, given the events of today and lack of any interviews of my person, stinks to high-heaven like a _goddamned cover-up!_

My complaints against the Bitches Three were _on record_ at Winslow; I saw the fucking secretary stamp and file them… before Blackwell got a new secretary, who _shredded_ the last official complaint practically right in front of me, telling me to stop causing drama.

I had a fucking _Gutenberg Bible's_ worth of reasons Hess would be the shittiest Ward on the face of the Earth sitting in my closet at home, and the PRT didn't so much as make a goddamn _phone call_; I'd have _happily _signed an NDA for the chance to put that fully-deserving bitch behind bars! Dad had to sign some of those before, when the E88 rolled on the Dockworkers last Fall and he had to hire someone from Carol "Brandish" Dallon's law firm! Sure, he wasn't happy about it and couldn't talk about what it was about, but who's happy when they have to sign a hush order?!

…Dad…

…I shook my head, disgusted with myself, and the whole world.

Winslow, for dropping the ball on me; Dad, for not being there even when he _was_, which was somehow worse; Hess, for putting me in this situation in the first place; fucking _Armsmaster_, for breaking my shoulder (I made a mental note to do something about that before the limb fell off) and making weapons and armor out of substandard materials-

('_Armsmaster, pfft, more like Half-Assmaster. Yep, from now on, he's Half-Assmaster McLoser 3000!'_)

-and, finally, the PRT for not investigating that up-herself waste of tissue named Sophia Hess properly. Hell, I may as well throw in the rest of the Wards for not pulling the bitch's head out of her ass or checking her fucking attitude and complaining about it!

Unless… unless the PRT was like Winslow…

Who was I kidding? They'd taken in _Hess_ with open arms! If anything, they'd be a hundred times worse than Winslow; mostly because… well, given what I'd just done…

And everything else I'd deduced… they'd probably lock me in the Birdcage just to keep me quiet, if they didn't even bother looking into Hess' fucking life before giving her a couple crossbows and turning her loose!

Growling to myself, in frustration this time, I leapt off the ledge, Eagle Claw in hand, and made for the nearest manhole. It reeked down here…

Wasn't that the cherry on top of this horseshit sundae of a fucking day? I was hiding in a fucking _sewer_, and probably being hunted by the government.

_'__Fuck this city with a white-hot ingot of nickel.'_

**_/I hear that. Let's hit the road!/_**

_'__Thanks for vote of confidence, Armor.' _At least I had one friend… even if they were a suit of reactive armor; but they were the _best_ suit of reactive armor.

**_/Anytime./_**

I'd leave. I wasn't afraid to leave; I was afraid of _staying_.

I knew the types of items I could make; I could give other people powers, whether through weapons or armor. I could use those arms and armors to _take powers away_.

I could shatter mountains, boil away seas, and pierce the very heavens!

…sort of. Most of the weapons that could do those kinds of things needed elements that didn't exist in nature; if that wasn't enough, synthesizing the materials required smelters and forges that I couldn't construct easily, not on my own. Sure, I could make a pretty robust one from a stack of river stones and I could make my own coal, but making a forge out of a _thundercloud?! _

I'd have to take this Tinker stuff seriously, or I might blow a hole through a mountain, or something equally (or, heavens forbid, _more_) noticeable and destructive.

And if I got captured by the Empire, or worse, _Lung_, they'd try to force me to make weapons and armor for their foot soldiers.

Yeah, fuck that, fuck them, and fuck the PRT twice with a fire hydrant. I wasn't going to let myself be forced into anything, but I also wasn't naïve; any of those organizations would press the issue, and force me to violence.

Again.

Because they're all a bunch of trigger-happy dumbasses.

Yet, as much as I hated the people in this fucking place, I liked my city. It's where I grew up, spent my childhood; where my Mom and Dad invested so much of their lives in. I have such good memories of this city, and… even now, trudging through a sewer on the worst day of my whole life… I wanted to see my city, my home, stand on its own two feet again.

But if I stayed, Brockton Bay stood a good chance of getting _leveled_. Due to the idiocy of others, of course.

So I had to leave, whether I liked it or not.

Climbing up a ladder, the Claw hanging from a boot-spur and the Armor eating the dozens of massive spider nests in the service entrance, I used the ears of my helm to carefully lift the manhole (which was a _lot_ lighter than I'd expected) up a few inches, and examined the surroundings on the surface.

Oh. I was in a deserted backstreet near Captain's Hill; good, that meant I could get out of the city without being noticed, being a hop, skip and jump from the outskirts. Nice. From the position of the Sun and the sound of helicopters and sirens in the distance, it looked like I hadn't been unconscious for very long, and I was still being looked for.

Sliding out of the sewers (with my aching shoulder and empty stomach protesting in different but equally painful ways) and carefully replacing the manhole, I spotted a hose on the side of someone's house; from the sound of things, no one was home. Good.

I marched that way like I owned the place, Eagle's Claw resting on my right shoulder.

First, bath. Then food. Then get out of town for a few days, get my head straight; it worked after… after Mom died. I'd have to find somewhere more out of the way than a maintained camp like the one I'd stayed at that awful Summer, however. Somewhere… wilder.

Hmm… oh! A lot of towns were abandoned after the S9 debuted; no one wanted to get a visit from the vagabond murderhobos who got kicks off murdering people-

(I may have been a murderer, but I had a reason. He shot me in the _fucking chest_ after I gave a _clear_ warning. Self-defense, I am _not_ psycho-murderhobo material, your honor)

-so a lot of towns got abandoned in the late 90s, the residents flocking to the cities along the coast, hoping for safe havens against the sanguine chaos of the Nine.

And then the Nine got Shatterbird, Leviathan showed up, and then nowhere was really safe, but who the fuck cared?

All that meant for _me_ was that there was a town somewhere out there, with a riverbed and tons of metal, in buildings and the certainly-defunct utility-lines, just lying around for me to craft wonders of metal with!

Plan made (I'd improvise as I went) I shook myself off, the armor shaking with me and sending sheets of dirty water all over the building's sides. Thinking about my plan in a little more detail, I marched toward the house's backdoor; while this went on, I decided to ask the armor something, _'__Uh, so, hey?'_

**_/What?/_** It sounded like a gruff, burly, annoyed guy.

_'__Sorry, it's been a long fucking day, and it's not even _noon._' _

**_/Hmm./_** It, or he, replied non-committally

_'__So, uh, do you mind if I change the way you look?' _

**_/What's wrong with the way I look?! I look fearsome, imposing! No one would wanna fuck with us, looking like this!/_**

_'__No argument there, but I'm kind of biased. Everyone else would take one look at you and either run or try to kill us, and we're trying to avoid combat right now,' _I replied, right before breaking the lock on the rear door of the house I'd used the hose at and letting myself in; they had a Confederate flag hanging in their front window, so, yeah, fuck them.

A crime? In principle, but only if one ignored the ramifications of visibly displaying rebellious imagery in a time where humanity should be uniting against, oh, I dunno, the _genocidal threats_, but that's racists and bigots for you. Total and belligerent rejection of common sense.

**_/Just wait for it to get dark, and we'll sneak out. Easy./_**

_'__We're not the only ones with powers, here. Some of them have ways of finding us,'_ I pointed out while raiding these racist's fridge (there was a rather nicely crocheted Nazi flag pinned to the door with a magnet, so _double_ fuck them) for a mostly-full gallon of water, half a rotisserie chicken, a head of lettuce, a block of Colby-Jack cheese, a bag of apples, that avocado, three sticks of butter, both their egg cartons, 18 eggs in all… oh, who was I kidding?

I cleaned their fridge out, and when I was done with the fridge (and had eaten the chicken, the lettuce, and the avocado, pit and all, along with the half-a-carton of moose tracks in the freezer), I hit the cupboards for canned food, crackers, and any other packaged, long-shelf-life foodstuff I could put my hands on.

There were family pictures on the walls, I noticed while doing this, and as no one had come knocking while I stocked up, I decided to explore; I needed something to put my loot in, after all.

Classic American family, two kids, wife, husband, but no dog or cat; blonde and brunette, the kids looked old enough for middle school, the husband was bald, and the wife was plain as vanilla ice cream, but her figure was close enough to mine, so hopefully she had better taste in clothes than ideals. Fucking Nazis.

They also liked baseball. I emptied plastic helmets out of the duffel bag (kept the padding, gloves and aluminum bats; might need those) and stuffed it with food, continuing hotly to the Armor, who'd been grumbling to itself for the past minutes, _'__And _when_, not _if,_someone finds us, they're going to come down on us like a ton of bricks. I'd rather that _not_happen; I've had more than enough excitement for one day!'_

**_/Pssh, we could _****shrug off ****_a ton of bri-/_**

_'__I HAVE A BROKEN SHOULDER, YOU FUCK!'_ I seethed back, fed up and trying not to crush the can of ravioli I was storing, _'__Let's get something straight, mister! I AM HAVING A VERY. BAD. DAY. I've been shut in the locker from hell, got fucking _shot – _not a graze, not a flesh wound; I got proper fucking shot – killed someone, and got into a fight with a half-assing armored slowtard who hit like a speeding truck! So until we're out of the city and have a decent base of operations, _and _my shoulder's in better shape, we're doing this _my_way, and that means_ you_changing into something better suited for sneaking around in daylight, you got it?!'_

The Armor shifted and growled in annoyance and anger before answering, **_/Tch, and what's wrong with _****my ****_plan?! At least _****my****_ way, I get to keep my good looks and _****not****_ be some pampered noble bitch's pretty pink carriage!/_**

…It… did _not…_ just say that…

**_/Yeah, I did! The fuck you gonna do about it, _****princess****_?!/_**

_'…__You really like digging graves, don't you?'_ I reached for a metal-headed mallet I'd found in these racist fuck's basement.

**_/Wha… What's that supposed to mea-HEY!/_** Clang-clang!... clang, cla-cla-clang.

I ignored the Armor's protests and kept altering part of its vibratory matrices to mimic a good stealth/defense metal: ebony infused steel, with the bare-bones specifics behind something called the Ebony Mail in mind (I'd have to look that up; I was pretty sure I'd heard of it _somewhere_, but couldn't remember where… probably a wiki walk), which both hid its wearer from sight and weakened the vitality of its opponents. I couldn't remember what else it could do, but for now, that was enough for me to work with.

Hey, if I absolutely _had_ to stay in this armor (I was fairly sure I couldn't take it completely off without… _unpleasant_ consequences), I may as well make myself comfortable, its current resident be damned; call _me_ a pampered princess, will he?

Admittedly, it wouldn't be as good as the real thing, because the Berserker Armor abhorred all other armor that wasn't itself, but I wasn't turning the Berserker Armor into the Ebony Mail.

That was impossible right now; not enough gold or (I was focused on my hammering, so I didn't shudder at the thought) enough virginal blood (my power didn't specify the species, but still, _squick_) to fully replicate that armor's abilities.

I was just doing the Tinker equivalent of adding a temporary patch, one that would, hopefully, hold until I'd gotten out of the city; my reasoning was that, given my luck today, someone would notice me, and, given that I'm likely in Empire territory…

Well, it'd have to do until I could find somewhere out of the way and quiet, so I could study how this snark machine/rage-monster crossed with an _iron maiden _suit really worked in peace and quiet.

Well, _relative_ peace and quiet.

**_/Hey! Don't do that – ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?! STOP!/_**

_'__You're fine; it's only a temporary fix, just until we get out of here. Now hold still…' _dingdingding-clang!

**_/FUCKING _****OW****_! WHAT THE – OW! – IS YOUR DEAL?! _****AH!****_ THAT HURTS! WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU?!/_**

I growled in remembrance, _'__Suck it up.' Dingdingding-THWACK!_

**_/Oh, ha-h – FUCK, right on the ELBOW! Modifying your armor while – YEOUCH! – YOU'RE FUCKING _****WEARING ****_IT! YOU'RE – FUCK! – CRAZIER THAN GODO!/_**

My hammering arm stopped mid-swing.

_hawkGriffithswordarmychudermidlandGuts-_

_'__Wh__**/What**__at_

_Griffitharmybattle_ZODD_battledoldreyknightbetrayallonelyGuts-_

**_the_**_the_

_planrescueplanstayGutschaseec__**lipseGriffithBRANDREDREDR-**_

fuck?'**fuck?/**

A long silence fell, both in the house and in my mind, which tolled like a rung bell in the wake of the information that'd just assailed it.

The sound of a helicopter passing some distance away broke the moment, and I croaked out loud, "We're talking about this _later,_ because-"

The Armor's voice (Guts' I presumed, but totally wasn't thinking about, nope) croaked right back, **_/Yeah, time and place, I got it. Get to hammerin', I'll keep it down./_** It felt like something curled up on itself in my mind, surly in its moving aside, but still there, still watching…

Still protecting…

I shook my head, and got to hammerin'.


	5. Design 5

**Hey, look, an update!**

**So many plot bunnies, not enough time to write them all. But I'll never abandon a story to incompletion, so enjoy this latest dose of IRON!**

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**Design 1.5**

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**_/…This isn't so bad, actually./_** Guts spoke up for the first time since we'd left the house I'd robbed, five minutes and two miles ago.

I was still a _little_ ashamed at sinking so low as to steal what I needed to survive, but there it was. It wasn't like I could count on anyone else at the moment, given all I'd done.

I was a murderer. I'd attacked a Ward out of costume, and assaulted two heroes. They likely already knew who I was, and had brought Dad in for questioning; maybe they'd find my journal, and realize that I hadn't wanted _any of this_ to happen.

Or, more likely, given that Sophia _fucking_ Hess just so happened to be the Ward in question, they'd hush everything up to cover their own asses, and brand me as a fucking villain so they get less egg on their face. Like they'd _been_ doing the entire time I'd been at Winslow.

And the people I'd stolen from were Nazis. Fuck Nazis.

_'Mmm,'_ I thought distractedly in reply, tensing my legs for the next leap, the Armor pricking my legs here and there to correct my form before I kicked off the grimy pavement; I landed across the street, rising from my landing crouch in another shadowed alleyway, with no one the wiser.

Though my boots _did_ make an audible clank, and the duffle on my back made a couple sounds of things moving around. On the other hand, it's not like the Berserker Armor was made to be stealthy; even with the alterations I'd made (a smoother, more feminine breastplate, and chainmail between my gauntlets and elbow-guards), it was still a matte black with forbidding red edges, and gave off the appearance and aura of something created with extreme violence in mind.

Not that I regretted choosing it… much. The Armor may not have been the best quality (only 4.8/10), and Guts was a dick sometimes, but the reactive/ablative elements of its nature mean I'd be able to make more permanent alterations once I had access to a smelter… and a proper forge… and made the appropriate hammers.

Given what I knew… I could really **give a fuck** what people thought of my appearance.

I'd taken one look at the news, before leaving that Nazi family's house, just to stay in the know, find out how the city was taking what'd happened earlier, and nearly flew into _another_ rage.

That the school was under temporary quarantine was a little surprising; apparently, using the Berserker Armor doesn't just help me fight, or keep me from tearing myself to pieces. It has a Shaker effect that forces whatever emotion I'm feeling into other people's heads, making them feel like someone hates them, wants to kill them… basically, they felt what _I'd_ felt.

I didn't know how to feel about that, or the fact that I'd nearly killed two other students… or that I'd killed the guy who shot me in front of thirty of my peers and two teachers, all of whom would probably need therapy.

Actually, fuck their feelings. They'd watched me get tortured over the past year and a half, and some of them probably knew about the fucking **locker**. One of them was the **one who put me there**, but I'd settled the score with Sophia; the rest of them could kick rocks with their _feelings_.

Hell, who was I kidding? The only reason I was sneaking around, instead of walking boldly down the street and out of this city, was that I didn't really have anywhere stable I could work, and couldn't make any of the really, _really _nice items my brain was screaming it could create; sure, with the Ebony Mail alterations, the Berserker Armor would weaken anyone who got within ten feet of me with the intent to harm me…

I laid a hand on a nearby dumpster, just to steady myself. Because I was-

[Cast steel, mass produced; Quality: 2.7/10; possible derivative materials (smelter {quality 4-10} required): carbon-steel alloys[4-8], paragon's luster[6], silverite[6.7], ebony[6.9], mythril[7.9], adamantium[8.3], vibranium[8.7], darksteel 9.7], divine-pattern steel10]]

-still pissed the **fuck** off.

But with my power gleefully reminding me just how utterly crap my equipment was whenever I touched another piece of metal… well, I wasn't about to stop and make a target of myself, not while in Empire territory. Not any longer than I absolutely needed to.

Even _with_ the knock-off silverite baseball bat I'd modified, plus the Eagle's Claw, I doubted I'd be able to take on the entire E88…

Especially seeing as, while I'd been watching the news, I found the PRT had already come out and labeled me as a villain, not even an _hour_ after I'd turned Half-Assmaster into a pinwheel. Not only had they said _that_, not only had that lying obese _bitch_ Director Piggot told the entire goddamn _world_ that I was a Tinker, and that I wouldn't hesitate to maim or even kill whoever got in my way…

They'd named me _Rabid_. Fucking _Rabid_.

Every villain group, from the ABB and E88, to the fucking _Teeth_ and Slaughterhouse _goddamn _Nine, would be looking to recruit me before the sun set and ended this _shitheap _of a day.

**_/Yeah, you whacking away at me hurt – and I'm gonna get you back for that,/_** I grunted audibly as I edged to the end of the alley, keeping watch for… _ooh_, a scrap-yard, full of old vending machines and other vintage potpourri, with an E88 tag on the side of the main building; I decided to stop for a few, because fuck Nazis and their nice, easily stolen stuff, **_/But it actually feels kinda good, having this flexibility, not to mention the other tricks you threw in. That, and you are _really_ pissed about what that lady in the picture box said, which is kind of distracting./_**

_'Can you really fucking blame me?'_ I thought back while hopping the fence and taking cover under a collapsible tent that hid a halfway-scrapped vintage Mustang, still _really_ irritated, but not about to take it out on my armor; it (or he, given that strange vision) was the only one in the world I knew for a fact I could trust. Guts had my back, literally even, _'The one they were talking about? That's us.'_

A helicopter turned a few miles away, closer to the city center; they still hadn't caught up to my trail, and the buildings and junk in this lot were just high enough to create plenty of visual cover. I put my bags down, kept my new bat as a weapon, and started flitting around, not-too-subtly tearing the choicest bits of metal out of whatever I could reach.

Because, again, fuck these Nazi assholes.

**_/Uh, okay… oh, more people saw that, huh?/_ **I almost rolled my eyes. The only thing that stopped me was realizing that Guts _likely_ didn't know what television was, **_/Still doesn't matter, though./_**

I paused in my crumpling some catalytic converters together, to think back waspishly, _'Given that we're trying to keep a low profile, how the **fuck **did you come to that conclusion?'_

**_/One, no one knows about the shit you added to me, or what that kickass bat does, so we've got surprise on our side if anyone tries to fuck with us,/_** okay, but even then-**_/Two, I _know_ you only give the slightest damn about what those asses think of you, because _three_, you and I both know you're not the type that's gonna go all apeshit on them just because./_**

That… wow, that actually summed up my feelings pretty well. And was really eloquent; maybe my alterations managed to make Guts less of an-

**_/Princess./_**

-_asshole._

Tossing a cluster of spark plugs – more platinum for me – into one of the duffel's pockets, I flatly thought, _'Yeah, I'm not gonna fly off the handle and murder everyone in sight. Would you?'_

**_/If they fucked with us. Or didn't get out of our way./_**

_'Well you can leave out the latter half, buddy,'_ came my mental snarl, _'because if you make me kill innocent people just because they're in the way of one of our fights, or call me that name again,' _I added as I crumpled three chrome rims into a ball and rolled it over to my bags, _'I will not only turn you **fucking** pink, I'll add some** glittery enamel.**'_

A car door shut, just up the block; it was followed by the sound of three people stomping toward the scrapyard's street access gate. One of them was grumbling about 'stupid monkey-fuckers looting his shit'.

Guts' reply came immediately after that most colorful epithet, **_/Okay, deal. On the condition that we fuck these guys up./_**

_'If they run, we don't chase,'_ I added the qualifier, receiving a grunt of reluctant assent, and the Berserker Armor's eyes covering my own with a quiet screech of grinding steel, tinting my visi**on a blood red and my mind a malicious black.**

**And damn, did it feel a little good; almost instantly, I felt my lingering pains numb, while my collective frustrations turned into a focused, cold _fury_. Clarity fell over me, a realization: I was actively predicting events around me, making plans even as I surveyed what might soon become a battlefield.**

**I could see the directions the clouds would move, where a group of pigeons would go. I could hear the gate screeching open and knew that the people over there would, depending on who they were, take between ten and fifty-five seconds to get to the clear lane between rows of junk I'd just stepped out into.**

**Vending machines, old gas pumps, vintage cars, all in various states of disrepair and restoration surrounded me; I could see where and how I'd have to move to avoid and engage any enemies that tried to take us on.**

**_Us_. Guts and I. **

**I could feel him, almost like a living wall of steel and implacable fury, encircling my whole being, ready to guide me through another battle, another _fight_. I could feel his barely-contained eagerness, and the disgust he felt concerning racism; it wasn't a complex philosophy, or anything one might wax poetic on. **

**I could feel that Guts simply hated those who looked down on others, whatever the reason. To him, it was all bigotry and putting on airs; to Guts, no matter where you came from, who you came from, _you could bleed_. Pedigree didn't mean shit when the chips were down; all that mattered was whether or not the fight you were in _meant something_.**

**On that much, we were in perfect agreement. However...**

**"Who the _fuck_ is wrecking my shit?!" roared the deep, gritty voice of the person who owned this place; suddenly, a shirtless man wearing a metal tiger mask and chains on his forearms shot into the air and landed on a rusty old Tab machine. He flinched, seeing me, before he began to float a little.**

**_Stormtiger._**

**He was joined on his perch shortly thereafter by a woman wearing what I could only describe as exercise clothes, who, on spotting me, stopped beside him briefly before nimbly jumping onto the opposite row of machines; a cage was her mask, and she was armed with three hidden daggers and two kama. She was also glaring hard at me.**

**_Cricket._**

**Around the bend that led to the street came a big, hairy man with long greasy blonde hair; he was wearing nothing but blue jeans and a metal mask. He had a tattoo on each arm; 'E88' on one side, and a wolf imposed over a swastika on the other.**

**_Hookwolf_.**

**…It seemed my time for musing was up, for there were _three Nazi fuckers_ before me, and each was in _desperate_ need of a beating.**

**I drew my silverite bat (which I quickly and aptly named _Line Drive_ in my head) with a savage, grinning growl; Hookwolf could cover himself with metal weapons, Stormtiger was a Blaster that manifested cutting blades of wind, and Cricket… was a _murdering bitch._ In Guts' mind, she looked every part the two-bit assassin I knew for a fucking _fact_ she was. **

**The other two weren't even threats, by my estimations; I already knew what they did, and, between Guts and I, how to take them down. Cricket was the only unknown, the only real threat.**

**The one who'd cut Tempest's face last year, and killed Merrow, a vigilante I'd actually liked, the year before that.**

**My growl of challenge did make Hookwolf chuckle, though; the man followed this with covering himself with metal blades and stated, in a welcoming tone, "Well, if it isn't the chick that trashed Armsy and the Barbie Bitch; gotta say, I wish I could've seen that has-been get trashed in person. Bonus points for puttin down blondie, and knifing that nigger. Still... the _fuck_ you think you're doing to my projects?" he ended with a deep, warning growl of his own, more blades sliding out, ramping him up.**

**Neither of his friends pulled a phone, but they looked both wary and pissed; experienced. Fine, I'd banter a little, put them off their game.**

**Plus, I had quite a few reasons, both personal and pragmatic, for hating these three capes in particular. **

**Personally, for their gang harassing the Dockworkers, harassing my _Dad_ to the point where he occasionally came home with a split lip or bruise, and Tempest – the aerokinetic who was helping Dad's union clean up the Graveyard, who I'd actually met once, before _Emma_ – getting her face cut by Cricket last year… **

**And that wasn't even counting the shit they'd done to our city, or all the vigilantes they'd killed, people who'd just wanted to help protect the Bay's population and give people hope. Like Merrow. Like _me._**

**_'Fuck these three and everything they stand for.'_**

**_/Now?/_**

**_'Not yet.'_**

**"Oh, you know," I growled with a touch of humor, my voice taking on a menacing cast due to the Armor, "tearing them up, taking what I need, and leaving you an upper decker before leaving," he snarled, taking a step forward, and I snarled right back, resting my bat on my shoulder.**

**Hookwolf scoffed, "What, and you think you can just get away with it?" another step forward, then he stopped; after a brief pause, he shook his head and pointed at me, "Nah, bitch, you're comin' with me to meet Kaiser."**

**I chuckled darkly, watching Stormtiger shift minutely and Cricket tense, "And who's gonna make me? You three circus rejects?" **

**Wow, I was really not afraid of these three. I was standing before three hardened murderers and I wasn't afraid at all.**

**Not only was my body calm, due to Guts' protective presence, so was my mind; I _intellectually knew_ that hell would freeze right the fuck over before they caused me any lasting damage, while they…**

**They weren't walking away. They'd likely _seen_, secondhand, what I'd done to the heroes, and they weren't backing down. **

**Fine. If they wanted to die so badly, so be it. I would not let even _one_ more cape, _one_ more innocent, die to these _freaks_. And Guts agreed with me. No chances this time, no holding back. We'd die otherwise, and-**

**"Now don't be like that," Hookwolf continued growling, in a mock-chiding tone, almost a goddamn _purr,_ "I mean…**

**"Think of your old man… _Hebert_."**

**The world stopped. Hookwolf was still talking, but I didn't hear anything.**

**They knew who I was.**

**_They knew who Dad was._**

**_Motherfucking Hookwolf just threatened Dad._**

**_'Guts?'_**

**_/Kill this fuck?/_**

**_'…not yet.'_**

**Everything I saw was becoming shifting shadows and rust-red rivers amidst the tsunami of utter _RAGE_ Hookwolf's statement brought me; all three Empire capes tensed, their leader shutting his fucking face, no doubt having just gotten a dose of the Berserker Armor's Shaker effect.**

**My reply to that threat against Dad, however, was calm, "Tell Kaiser this, Hookwolf: if my father is harmed, or I come back to find my home destroyed, or this city in chaos… I will make him watch as I _kill. His. Empire_." I paused, waiting for the racist moron to open his mouth again, and snarled, "_You might have to write it down."_**

**Without giving any of them another chance to respond, I lunged forward. Hookwolf, already covered in blades and seven-odd feet tall, was ready, and pounced right back at me.**

**My vision wavered slightly, but righted just in time for Hookwolf to get close enough.**

**Black smoke was unleashed from my armor, wrapping around the metallic body flying right at me; before my eyes, I saw the moment Hookwolf realized just how utterly _fucked_ he was. Stormtiger couldn't save him, not at this range.**

**Not against me. Not against Guts.**

**And _especially_ not against _Line Drive_, which took the strength and momentum of whoever swung it and multiplied that force tenfold; what's more, its potential energy would disperse on hitting any solid object, not only sparing the user's hands any recoil, but also ensuring that dropping or casually tossing the bat wouldn't do any damage.**

**But Hookwolf would likely never appreciate the secondary features of _Line Drive_, seeing as my blow caught the man, who'd instinctively curled into a ball to minimize damage, across the left side of his body, introducing him to the _primary_ feature of my bat, amped up by the Armor and my Brute ability…**

**And _blasted him the FUCK out of the lot with a deafening BLANG, _the Nazi cape soaring clear over the buildings across the street and out of sight in less than two seconds.**

**Stormtiger and Cricket recovered quickly, the former hurling a cluster of wind blades at me while the other flung a dagger, her hand drifting toward her pocket, no doubt to call for backup while Stormtiger kept me busy.**

**I didn't grin, even though Guts was howling with eagerness; my mouth was set into a serious, grim line. This needed to end and _fast,_ before more showed up.**

**Neither Guts nor I saw a problem with that.**

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Note: The cape working with the Dockworkers, Tempest, is Whirlygig in Worm canon. I've adopted this briefly-mentioned character and have given her some light plot armor. You'll be introduced properly to her at some point in the future, likely in an Interlude.

Difference between her canon abilities and her powers here is that Tempest uses pure aerokinesis, tied to moving her arms in a circular fashion, pointed down, to create whirlwinds of varying speeds, and gestures to make them move once they've started. Tempest can't _quite_ make tornadoes, and she can't control more than two powerful whirlwinds at once, but she _can_ create cyclones strong enough to pick up and throw one of Squealer's creations, or a boat. She's also a dab hand at roofing and siding, which is her day job with the Dockworkers.

I get that Squealer had a bad end in canon, so she's a pretty common target for redemption, but she's not the only cape that died there. Whirlygig didn't even _get_ a clear death.

Next time: Debriefing at the PRT, and what happened to Hookwolf?


	6. Design 6

**AN: Sorry about the fubar-ed formatting error! Chapter replaced! Teach me to rush, lmao!**

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**Design 1.6**

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_"…as such, this Parahuman, who we at the PRT have given the _temporary, provisional_ designation of Rabid, is being considered as a dangerous villain. Know that they are armed and willing to use those arms; Protectorate-aligned Thinkers have informed us that Rabid is a Tinker with strong Brute and Thinker powers, possesses a lingering Shaker-stroke-Master effect that we _think_ is tied to their armor, and they will not hesitate to maim or kill anyone in their path. I urge anyone who encounters this villain to call the PRT immediately; if you value your life, you should _not_ engage them under any circumstances whatsoever. As to how they came to be, or why the events at Winslow High School occurred… that matter is currently under investigation by both the PRT and local law enforcement, and I've been told, by those who've interviewed the students still in quarantine, that there's more to this than what we've found on the surface. We will have further information for you, along with an update on this villain's designation and purported abilities, tonight at 6pm. No questions, please."_

A gesture from Colin's hand paused the recording of Director Piggot's press conference, which took place five hours ago, a severe frown on his face.

Colin didn't agree with the Director's choice to designate this new Trigger as _Rabid_ – a poor move, but better to act now and ask for forgiveness from the involved parties later, and the name _was_ more than apt – or her decision to out the Shaker/Master ability that became evident after the fight ended and the investigation began.

The area was quarantined and cordoned off, and both paramedic and law enforcement personnel were called in to help speed the questioning and Master/Stranger screening along. There were concerned parents filing in ever minutes, and the longer they took, the more likely a riot became; on the other hand, everything was set up in record time, and the best guess was that the investigation and screening would only take two hours.

And then things took a turn for the worst.

257 of Winslow's 1463 students, over the course of twelve minutes, had mentally deteriorated, becoming steadily more furious, to the point where they began blindly attacking anyone who moved, including their peers, teachers, paramedics, law enforcement, each other, and both Protectorate and New Wave heroes.

It was bloody chaos, such that the investigation into the Winslow Incident – as the news called it – was delayed by an hour while they rounded up all the crazed children, who passed out nearly simultaneously, exactly one minute and twelve seconds after their riot began.

Loathe though he was to admit it, Colin knew that if Oni Lee, Fenja, Alabaster, Victor and Othalla hadn't arrived to assist in relief efforts – under truce protocols, agreed upon when they each revealed they were on orders from their respective leaders to assist in keeping the peace – there would have been more casualties.

Six of the students-turned-berserkers had been killed in the panicked melee; the rest had either been foamed or otherwise restrained with difficulty, in most cases before they'd seriously hurt anyone, and were now segregated from the others inside the quarantine. All those effected had since woken, and insisted they couldn't remember what they'd done; most couldn't even remember waking up that morning.

Which made the problem of figuring out how to explain, to the public, the bloodthirsty media, the effected families, _or _the Directorate, the extra twenty-two corpses and two hundred three wounded their actions caused, all the more difficult.

How the hell were they supposed to explain to the Chief Director that one of their _Wards_ caused all this?

Colin's gaze was drawn to the text messages taken from Madison Clements' phone, after the girl surrendered to Dauntless and tearfully confessed everything that'd happened this morning, and those that the PRT's IT department had pulled from the phones of Emma Barnes, who was one of the berserkers…

And _Sophia Hess_, who he could see, on a security feed, was curled up in the corner of her M/S cell and looking at the door with pure _terror_ writ across her face.

Armsmaster had to exert a considerable amount of mental will to stop himself from gritting his teeth too hard, or clenching his fists; neither action would help this situation, nor be good for his health.

She _should_ be afraid, Colin decided; the girl had participated in one of the most disgusting campaigns of psychological terror he'd seen outside actual encounters with supervillains. What was worse, none of the three girls were in any mental state to give a statement, let alone a _reason_ for their deplorable actions.

Shadow Stalker, who'd tangled more than once with Oni Lee, Stormtiger, and Victor, was nearly catatonic with fear, kept complaining that she was still in pain even after Panacea gave her a clean bill of health, jumping at shadows and mumbling about something hunting her.

Ms. Clements confessed she couldn't remember any reason for helping Hess and Barnes systematically destroy Ms. Hebert's peace of mind, beyond a feeling of self-preservation; there was something else there, something the Thinkers believed the girl had suppressed. She was now in custody, and would have to speak with a psychologist.

Emma Barnes was currently quarantined, and in shocked, uncomprehending denial after being informed that she'd killed one of her classmates, a Charlotte Penbrook… with her _teeth_. The girl was barely interacting with anyone at this point, even her own mother – spoken with over a video link – and, like all the others who'd killed during their episode, was under suicide watch.

Tamping down on his anger, and the helpless feeling in the face of this situation, Colin glanced out of the corner of his eye, at the sheaf of journals, print-outs, and loose sheets of paper in an evidence bag.

Taylor Hebert's record of everything she'd gone through, taken from the warranted search of her family's home… ending with her last entry, made the night before, where she admitted her anxiety at returning to school. Her father, who'd they'd brought to the Rig for his own protection, hadn't known about it.

Danny Hebert had admitted that his relationship with Ms. Hebert was virtually nonexistent at this point; the girl had opened up more to Tempest, a rogue who was assisting in the Graveyard Cleanup, than to her own father since her mother's death.

And that was only the beginning of the long, _long_ list of problems that had fallen right into the PRT's lap.

Emma Barnes' father had been arrested for embezzlement, as had Principal Blackwell for both that and perjury; they'd been skimming funds the PRT had given the school to change the locks and install metal detectors (Blackwell had done the latter, but those had been sabotaged before the first week of last September ended, and hadn't been repaired. The locks had never been replaced, just _reported_ as replaced).

Over the course of their respective interviews, both individuals began pointing fingers wherever they could in a bid to save their own asses. The city school board, Carol Dallon's law firm, the _state superintendent_. The list of who'd the two had slicked the hands of just kept growing; the Director had eventually thrown her hands up and gave them to the FBI.

The PRT and Protectorate had bigger problems to deal with, after all.

Such as the fact that Ms. Hebert's temporary cape designation, Rabid, had… not been taken well.

It'd taken the combined efforts of Rory and Samantha to keep Ethan from storming the Director's office after _that_ revelation; Colin wasn't happy with it either, despite how fitting the name was, given the after-effects of their emotional Shaker ability. Shawn and Robin were on the fence about it all, seeing as the former had been treated to Ms. Hebert's abilities firsthand, while Robin had been on-site when the Winslow students had gone berserk.

Hannah was the only Protectorate ENE member who was supporting the Director's choice of name, temporary or not; in her own words, the girl would either turn herself in or eventually get arrested, and everything would smooth itself out. Their purpose wasn't to question, but to obey their overseers in the PRT.

Some days, Colin wondered why he hadn't pushed for the Spartan-minded woman's transfer; this was one of those days.

The less said about PHO, the better; the mods, including Dragon, were working overtime, banning anyone who so much as _suggested_ a correlation between Rabid and Taylor Hebert. If that wasn't enough, there was a movement – begun by AllSeeingEye – that was gaining traction, with the end of suggesting a new name for Rabid.

As of – Colin checked the clock in the corner of his domino mask's HUD – three minutes ago, the second most popular suggestion, put forward by Bagrat, was 'Red Jackal', nipping at the heels of AllSeeingEye's offering of 'Ash Crow', and just ahead of VoidCowboy's surprisingly sensible name, 'The Grudge'.

Some posters had brought up 'Iron Maiden' a few times, but copyright laws prevented that name from being taken, not to mention the backlash from those who remembered Iron Rain.

At least, for the moment, most of the public was satisfied that the PRT and Protectorate's labeling of… Ash Crow; Colin nodded, the name had a nice ring to it. It would have to do until they could convince her of a more friendly name… and appearance.

The public had accepted the villain label with good grace. Even with the stigma that came with such a label, Colin knew that could change with the right incentives, and the right handling of PR… after the girl had a chance to cool off enough to realize the error of her ways and surrendered.

Which became less and less likely as the minutes rolled by.

He'd read the record of torment she'd kept. Taylor Hebert didn't strike Colin as the type of person to suddenly lash out, either overtly or covertly; if anything, she seemed quite the calm, if understandably distraught and frustrated, intellectual.

No, everything he'd discovered and sorted through told Colin only one thing: three girls had driven Ms. Hebert to her breaking point, to a _Trigger Event_, and everyone who should have been there to stop it from happening… didn't.

That stung Colin's pride as a hero. His own Trigger… no one was unaffected by such a situation; it was literally the worst day of every Parahuman's life, his own included.

And Taylor Hebert's school had done exactly _nothing_ substantial to stop the bullying, believing the word of a lawyer's daughter over that of a lonesome girl who needed help.

In Armsmaster's eyes, the girl had needed a hero. Hess _was_ a hero. Emphasis on _was_.

Now… Colin's eyes glared at a particular text, sent to Ms. Barnes by Sophia:

_Oh, don't worry. I learned some new stuff at summer camp. Trust me, she'll react this time._

Part of Alexandria's camp itinerary was learning how to identify a Trigger Event, as well as the pre-warning signs that led up to them.

Hess had _known_ what she was doing. Had pushed Ms. Hebert to the edge… and over it.

Colin didn't foresee any problems arising during the coming meeting with the Directorate and Triumvirate – five minutes from now – where he would push for Hess' incarceration; Triggers were sacred, even between heroes and villains. It was an unspoken rule not to ask about them, or, much worse, try to incite one.

Yes, they needed heroes, but not _that_ badly, especially not at _that_ cost. By doing this, shoving Ms. Hebert into that locker, Hess had just proven beyond any doubt in Colin's mind that she _wasn't_ a hero.

His eyes flicked to the quivering teenager, still in her cell, still on the verge of panic… still utterly terrified.

Looking down at the glass containment cube that held the metallic remains of the throwing knife Ash Crow had made… Colin couldn't blame her for being afraid. He'd fought Ash Crow, had reviewed the video in detail, and studied the girl's movements and actions from multiple angles, trying to find a way he could've won.

But there were no easy answers; whatever that armor she wore did, however it'd come into being – the locker Ms. Hebert'd been in looked _melted_ – the collateral damage it could cause meant that any fight would be like fighting Lung: take them down hard and fast, before things could go wrong. Even then, her tenacity and Thinker abilities made doing just that harder than it seemed, to say nothing of the fact that _any metal_ she got her hands on was a potential weapon.

The knife she'd made from Colin's armor only underlined these facts.

A knock sounded at his laboratory door; a quick check on his HUD showed Armsmaster that it was Hannah. Three minutes until the meeting.

He picked up his helmet and put it on; in the last few hours, Armsmaster had changed his armor. He was now wearing the suit he usually reserved for Endbringer fights, as his newest armor would need _days_ of work to repair, and had replaced his capture Halberd with one that incorporated a suite of electrostatic weapons, from a reusable Taser to a lightning whip.

If he faced Ash Crow again, Armsmaster would make sure to capture her at all costs, the Director's preference that they 'take her down hard' be damned.

"Enter!" he barked as his helmet's seals clicked into place; an eye-blink shut off all the monitors, downloading the information therein to his onboard hard drive, but left the ones with the incriminating text messages and the feed from Hess' cell on.

He may as well get an idea of how his second saw things, when confronted with the truth.

Hannah cracked the door open before entering, still in her costume, her power manifested as a knife on her hip, "Thee minutes till, Colin," her eyes flicked to the texts, then moved to look at Stalker.

Colin watched her from the corner of his eye while storing the knife's containment cube in a secure briefcase, disappointed that there was the slightest look of worry in Miss Militia's eye when she looked at the… soon-to-be-_severely_-punished Ward; clearing his throat, he gestured at the door, "Good. Let's get this over with."

"What will you say?" she asked, almost pleadingly; he felt a pang of anger at the question's phrasing, and it must have shown on his face, for Militia followed it up with, "She's already suffered at this cape's hand, Col-"

Armsmaster scoffed, picking up Ms. Hebert's… record, placed it in the briefcase next to the knife, and replied, "_She_ suffered. Hannah…" he shook his head, shutting the briefcase with a loud _snap_; this was a waste of time, "After everything that's happened today, Shadow Stalker doesn't deserve the title of 'hero'." And he walked away briskly, heading for the conference room.

To his relief, Militia didn't argue with him.

**.**

**[IRON]**

**.**

"…tell them that the name we'll be using, from now on, is Ash Crow. Send out a plea for the girl to turn herself in, and a warning to the villain groups in your city to _not pursue_ or try to apprehend her. _Furthermore,"_ PRT Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown snapped, leaning forward in her monitor, leveling a spine-chilling glare at the ENE's Director, "the next time you want to name a newly discovered Parahuman – and I don't care if they're the second coming of Ash Beast – you _contact my office_ so we can coordinate! Glen has been frothing at the mouth ever since you made that press release, and our complaints hotline nearly went down within 20 minutes of you calling this new cape _Rabid_; almost _everyone_ already knows that this was a new Trigger, because of PHO," the woman trailed off, sighing and rubbing the bridge of her nose, "…either you rescind and correct your statement, or I'll pull every single favor I have with New Wave and _make you_ sit down with Panacea. Are we clear, Emily?"

"Crystal, ma'am," Armsmaster felt the smallest iota of satisfaction at the Director's obvious displeasure at being dressed down by her immediate superior, which was probably compounded with the fact that it was happening right in front of both him and Miss Militia. Which made him worry slightly.

Taking from previous instances of Piggot being reprimanded indicated that she'd likely take her frustrations out on her Protectorate capes, namely him. Personally, Colin didn't know how she was still employed with the PRT; she was brash, confrontational, inefficient-

"Good. I look forward to watching tonight's press release," the Chief Director _nearly_ bit out, before turning to Colin, her gaze not softening in the slightest, "We've got the broad strokes of this… bullying campaign," Costa-Brown looked as though she'd tasted something horrible, "and we'll be getting the fine details from our coordination with the FBI; they've asked for Ash Crow's journal, but before we give it to them, tell me Armsmaster… how much of it incriminates Stalker?"

"To put it simply, Chief Director" he opened the briefcase and removed the evidence bag that contained Ms. Hebert's record, slapping it onto the conference room table as loudly as possible, "it's about five times the amount I would've accepted, to put Stalker in juvie for breaking her probation, and that's not counting what she did today. For the past year and a half, Stalker, along with two other girls, terrorized Ash Crow in her civilian identity; I haven't had time to sift through it all, but, not counting today and between the incidents we _know_ occurred, from Winslow's records, and those we only have Crow's word on, Stalker and the other two could be tried for 22 misdemeanors and 10 felonies, including destruction of family heirlooms, felony harassment, and, in Stalker's case, premediated assault."

Militia's head bowed when Costa-Browns eyes darted in her direction, before fixing on Colin again; it was Armstrong who spoke, however, the man's voice flinty, "No one suspected? What about her caseworker? Her watcher? Hell, what about this _school?_ They were supposed to contact the PRT, if things got out of hand, right?"

Armsmaster didn't miss a beat, "Sophia Hess' caseworker is provided by the Youth Guard; our _preliminary_ investigation shows that they were softballing Hess' mental state, going so far as to forge her signature and make false reports, whenever she didn't show up for a meeting. They did this so their government funding would increase; like us," if he were a lesser man, Colin's expression would've been sour, "they wanted a success story. Stalker was theirs as much as ours."

"She never stopped solo patrolling, is what you mean," Director Piggot's statement could've been framed as a question, even if her inflection indicated otherwise, so Colin nodded once; the large woman looked ready to wring Stalker's neck, "Shit."

Colin continued, "As for her caseworker, the woman was intimidated, first by Stalker herself, then by Alan Barnes, her lawyer, into keeping any incidents at Winslow quiet. She was compensated with a cut of the monthly Ward stipend that we earmarked for Winslow; the less said about that institution's administration, the better, but you already have the details on Blackwell."

Again, Costa-Brown sighed, looking very frustrated, "Yes. We'll let the FBI handle the civilian side of things, though we will be assisting them, as a matter of course. Now… Ash Crow," the other PRT Directors shifted, none of them looking happy; Legend's monitor showed the man's lips thinning even further than they already were, but Alexandria was stoic as ever, "What do we know?"

"Little," it burned Colin to admit that, but he wouldn't lie to them; Ash Crow, regardless of her past, had become one of the biggest potential threats on the East Coast, and she was a _freshly Triggered_. That burned him even more, that the girl outdid him without the least bit of effort.

Clearing his throat briefly to hide his suppressing of emotions, he told the Directorate and two-thirds of the Triumvirate what he'd figured out thus far, "Solid, definitive numbers aren't possible at this point in time, not without an in-depth powers test, but this is what we've gleaned from the Trigger's Ground Zero: the armor she's wearing formed from most of the metal that comprised locker she was trapped in, along with two of the lockers on either side of her. My current theory is that the armor is the source of the emotional Shaker effect, as it was created during the trauma Ash Crow endured, from the very source of her Trigger; in essence, it amplifies and distributes her emotions into the minds of everyone in wide range, which we've tentatively measured as 150 yards.

"Additionally – and I've gathered enough data from the quarantine to state this as a fact – individuals who are going through adolescence _and_ have a history of severe trauma _and_ are not Parahuman are effected worse than others by this Shaker ability," he paused to take a sip of water, and tried not to think about the utter chaos that'd occurred after Ash Crow fled, "Again, without an in-depth powers test, we don't know if there are other uses to this Shaker effect; in this case, the indignation and fury Ash Crow felt, both from her Trigger and the ensuing fight, resonated in their thoughts, eventually causing their brains to enter a flight-or-fight state due to the general atmosphere present in the quarantine. Panacea indicated that this was marked by an anomalous release of cortisol, endorphins, and adrenaline into the victim's bloodstreams…" Colin's voice went quiet as he concluded, "I'm sure you've seen the rest."

"Seen it?" Deputy Tagg asked, sounding like he was surprised at Colin's final observation, "Oh yes, we've seen it. I've seen that type of behavior too often… in zones effected by the _Simurgh_," the man ended with an undignified snarl.

Militia cut in, "If she is indeed freshly Triggered, it's likely that she doesn't know how her power functions; on the other hand," Colin fought the urge to roll his eyes, because he'd heard this argument, "her manifestation of powers was obvious. I don't see why she didn't go to the authorities when-"

"Because the authorities couldn't be trusted."

Every eye turned to Armsmaster at his biting declaration; he ignored them, instead opening Ms. Hebert's sheaf of documents and rifling through them, looking for a particular entry.

While he did, Costa-Brown asked mildly, "Are you saying she had no reason to trust the PRT?"

"In her eyes, any authority figure would've turned on her rather than helped her," observed Colin, finding the page he was looking for, "She'd been bullied for a year and a half, we know this from Winslow's records and Madison Clements' testimony, but this entry comes from February 23rd, 2010, and explains my reasoning: _Tripped by Sophia Hess between second and third periods. Bruise on my left knee, easily hidden. Four spit wads hit my hair during World Affairs; Gladly didn't intervene. Attempted to complain about spit wads, was told off for disrupting class. Filed three complaints with main office (unstamped copies attached)_," Colin looked up, taking note of the almost bored looks on the faces of the listeners, "This next part has tear stains on it: _Stayed in office to watch filing of complaints. Secretary shredded complaint originals, gave me detention for 'crying wolf'. _The record for that day ends there."

Closing the record, Colin stood at parade rest and declared, "Five other subsequent times, she attempted to file complaints, including one that _should've_ been filed with the city Superintendent of Schools after an heirloom flute that belonged to her mother was stolen, vandalized, and then – according to one of the perpetrators, Madison Clements – hidden somewhere by Sophia Hess. Ash Crow, in her civilian identity, hasn't filed any complaints since being given a week's worth of detention for, and I quote, 'continuing to disrupt the running of this school after being repeatedly told not to'.

"So, no, Chief Director, I don't think a teenage girl who'd been failed by every authority figure in her life, her unknowing widower of a father included, would be thinking of anything other than vengeance after those who'd been terrorizing her escalated to attempted murder."

After a long, tense silence, Director Piggot slowly looked over at the Chief Director's screen, and whispered heatedly, "I don't like saying 'I told you so', ma'am, but-"

"Hindsight is 20/20," brutally observed Costa-Brown, before throwing a hand in the air and ordering, "That's it then: we're washing our hands of this little bitch before she hangs us all. Send Hess to juvie, and make it public that Shadow Stalker is being exchanged with… Flechette. Legend, can you do what Alexandria failed to accomplish?"

Legend nodded curtly, and was about to reply, when Alexandria overrode him, "I didn't fail. I gave her the tools and know-how so she'd become a better hero. It's not my fault she used those teachings to-"

"Alex," Legend interrupted lightly, before his face hardened, "We'll be talking about your little camp's practices, in _excruciating _detail, once we're done here; as for Stalker," he then calmly addressed the rest of the gathered individuals, "I'll take her, but beyond retraining and therapy, she won't be performing any especially important duties. Not until she can prove herself."

Nods and agreements were had, before Tagg spoke up again, "And what about that sword, or the knife, Armsmaster? Don't think I didn't notice you avoiding that bit."

"Not avoiding, Deputy Director," Colin assured, tamping down on his building annoyance; this was taking far too long, and Ash Crow was still out there, "Simply making sure we've got all our bases covered before explaining just how dangerous Ash Crow can be. Long story short: if she has time to create weapons or modify her armor, Ash Crow is arguably the most dangerous Tinker for anyone to face in a fight.

"She likely has a low to middling Brute rating, or her armor gives her one; it's difficult to know which is which, for obvious reasons. We do know for a fact that she's a combat-related precog, and our own Thinkers agree that the armor she's wearing focuses and amplifies this ability. Examination of the school, after everything calmed down in the quarantine area, shows that Ash Crow can, using very simplistic means and methods, make higher-than-average quality carbonized steel from stainless steel in a matter of minutes. The sword she used was forged inside an hour out of substandard metal, and ended up being nearly one order of magnitude more durable than my armor, which I'd spent the last four months constructing with Dragon's assistance," several Directors, and even Alexandria, twitched or muttered in surprise.

Colin ignored their reactions and continued, "After reviewing video of our fight, and Ash Crow's retreat, I've come to the conclusion that trying to take her down through brute force is inadvisable; her battlefield precognition is perfect, and is brutal in her own takedowns. She was able to deflect a fifty-caliber bullet three-quarters of a second after parrying one of my strikes, and no-sold Glory Girl with barely any effort; in breaking the cordon during her retreat, she dodged or deflected bullets, avoid containment foam sprayers and grenades, and only inflicted one injury on our troopers – a broken collarbone – as she passed them by… all while avoiding attempts at stopping her from Lady Photon, Laserdream and Shielder.

"In conclusion, I theorize that if she was capable of making that armor, and that impossible sword," he reached into the briefcase and removed the containment cube, which Director Piggot swore at the sight of, "and this knife…"

It looked… _violent_. It was a spiked ball of rusty blades, which was constantly in motion; some of the spikes would retreat to the center point, and others would manifest, stabbing outward at nothing.

If it wasn't for the contained magnetic field, that kept it from leaving the glass cage it was in, this metal creation of pure hatred would seek out the nearest human body and try to kill them. Colin's tests had proven _that_ much, and that it would eventually become inert, but he wasn't about to tell the Directorate that; they looked panicked enough as it was.

Armsmaster finished in a hard voice, "…which, if Panacea hadn't been able to remove it from Stalker's bloodstream, would've blended her insides… I theorize that, with time and practice, Ash Crow could make weapons that can counter virtually _anything_," he paused to let that sink in, before admitting, "Although, again, without powers testing, this is all speculation. For now, I'm giving her the tentative threat ratings of Tinker 6, Brute 2, and Thinker 8."

Costa-Brown nodded curtly, "Well done, Armsmaster. For now," her gaze finally softened, "focus on getting that quarantine resolved before finding Ash Crow. Unfortunately," she added, while Colin felt his heart sinking, "due to her killing of that security guard – and ignoring the fact that he shouldn't have had that gun on him in the first place – the President has given the following order: if she resists capture a second time, or harms anyone else, Ash Crow _will_ have a Birdcage order."

Colin nodded, having expected this. At least Hess would be out of sight and mind. Hopefully, Chambers would be able to rebrand Stalker to further divorce any connection with her current identity.

That, and, well… enough people had died today.

Tagg had just opened his mouth after Colin had that thought, no doubt to say something foolish, when the room's loudspeaker let out an alarm and his radio came to life.

"Armsmaster!" the wind nearly drowned out Dauntless' shout, Projectile just came up from the west side suburbs! It crashed into Lord's Park; me and Triumph are inbound with Shielder – shit, there goes another one! Headed for the Docks, this time!"

Armsmaster was already out of the door and on his way to the garage, Miss Militia right at his heels. Out loud he barked, "Console, give me a visual on both of them! Get in touch with Lady Photon and have her _carefully_ check out the area they came from!"

Velocity sent video from the rig and Lord's Park over; there'd been a squad of PRT soldiers on a search pattern nearby, so Colin saw through their helmet cams as they moved to investigate. The other projectile, the one headed for the Docks, was a human-shaped silver-flesh-colored blur with a small red streak following behind. He sent that one to Dragon, with a request to slow the video and find out who it was.

They'd just arrived in the garage when the PRT troops found the first projectile.

It'd dug a furrow into the ground, leaving behind multiple familiar metal blades, meaning that the projectile was actually Hookwolf; the man himself was curled up in a fetal position at the end of the furrow, twitching in obviously excruciating pain… and covered in blue water, toilet tissue, and feces, the result of the man plowing through four portable toilets before coming to a stop.

Dragon then sent him a single image. The other projectile was Stormtiger; video showed the man vanishing near Lord's Market. 911 calls were already coming in frantically, but Colin didn't particularly care, because a cold realization had just come over him.

No one had seen Ash Crow in over five hours.

And the source of each of the capes being launched through the air was nearly at the city's edge, where Lady Photon was now moving…

"All units: Ash Crow is attempting to leave the city! Use extreme caution in stopping her!"

**.**

**[IRON]**

**.**

**_Line Drive_ clattered to the ground after I threw it into Stormtiger's chest, sending the fucker flying in a different direction from where I sent Hookwolf. That just left…**

**My ears rang. It felt like someone'd just walloped me with a sledgehammer, _'Guts!'_**

**_/IT'S THAT BITCH! SHE DID SOMETHING WITH SOUND!/_**

**Right, Cricket, who'd just leapt at me with a scream bringing both her kama in a pincer attack at my head. At the same time, I felt metal caps push into my ears, and I tensed in preparation.**

**Then she was on top of me.**

**I dodged backward, making her overextend herself, and hit her with a pulse of the Ebony Mail's power and strength dampening effect; Cricket's attempt to dodge back resulted in a stagger. I saw her eyes widen in panic as I turned the Mail-effect off and lunged right at her, right where I knew she would dodge.**

**She got a hit in, striking me in the right elbow. Her follow-up, aimed at the left side of my neck, never reached me.**

**I caught her wrist, pulled her in…**

**And _broke her knee with a vicious kick._**

**_/HOW'D YOU LIKE THAT?!/_**

**_'Get back, Guts.' I thought irritably, 'This bitch is MINE.'_**

**Her hoarse scream of horror and pain didn't last long, as I crushed her right wrist and flung her into the TAB machine with a _bwoom_. Then I pounced on her with a HATE-filled roar, knocked her remaining kama aside, dragged the bitch to the ground, and used her face as a punching bag.**

**I swung for Merrow, a ray of hope for the whole city, killed in broad daylight.**

**I swung for Tempest's scar, received when the Empire found out she was black.**

**I swung for the other vigilantes and rogues, killed by the Empire before their time.**

**I swung for Dad's defeated sighs, for his bruises and split lips.**

**I swung for Mom, killed by someone driving away from an Empire/ABB scuffle.**

**I added a few extra blows for the Dockworkers and all the teens I'd gone to middle school with, who'd turned to drugs or gangs, all because of these Nazi fuckers, who kept ruining my city and called themselves _heroes_ for doing it.**

**Then I stopped, because there wasn't enough of Cricket's head left to punch anymore.**

**Realizing that all of this was a _little_ less subtle than I'd intended, I quickly gathered _Line Drive _and _Eagle's Claw_, slung my duffle over my shoulder, and glanced at the sky.**

**Lady Photon was flying up high, slowly coming closer, her head swiveling around, like she was looking for something.**

**Activating the black smoke of the Armor one more time, I vanished from easy sight. I slinked out of the lot, head**ing west as fast as I could. In moments, the feeling of rage diminished, allowing me to see the trees Guts was navigating us through.

I didn't feel any better. Merrow was still dead. Dad was still a Dockworker. Tempest still had a scar on her face.

**_/Yeah, but their honor was satisfied. You did good./_**

_'I… I don't feel like I did good,'_ I admitted, feeling more than a little sick.

**_/Killing people never feels like that. But they can't hurt anyone else, because you took that away from them,/_** my Armor's spirit assured me, **_/You did good, kid, even if it doesn't feel that way. Killin ain't about enjoying it. It's about doing what's _right._/_**

Feeling choked up and more than a little tired, I spoke out loud, "Thanks, Guts."

**_/Whatever. Get some rest, I'll find us somewhere to hide./_**

_'Look for two metal rails with wood holding them together, then head north until you find an abandoned town; hide in one of the buildings, and make sure no one can see us,' _I told him as I stopped fighting against my drooping eyelids; he sent a wordless agreement as sleep claimed me, my last thought more of a hope.

I hoped nothing terrible happened while I was away.


	7. Design 7

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**REVIEWER RESPONSES!**

**Sebine: Well, of course I will! It's my hobby after all. And my Portal writing ass will be back on that in due course.**

**LyraHeartful: I have no idea. I just write and write and write until I'm satisfied with whatever it is, then deliver to the internets for perusal and debate. Apparently I'm fairly good at it. *shrugs* Not that I'm complaining.**

**Thank you, everyone, for your critique and words of encouragement!**

**Also, thank you to everyone for calling me on the formatting error last chapter; if it happens again, please PM me instead of reviewing it so you don't lose your review slot for the chapter!**

**And now to wrap this introductory arc up in a neat little bow!**

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**IRON**

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**Design 1.7**

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Brian Laborn smiled as he tapped the 'End Call' button on his phone; his little sister Aisha was safe, having gone to her classmate Bryce's house after school let out. Brian knew the kids would be fine, for the moment. Hopefully. Bryce's older sister hadn't returned to college yet, so she'd watch over the two rascals, make sure they didn't wander off.

Too many factors had changed in the city, since whatever the fuck happened at Winslow this morning, for Brian anyway.

His smile diminished slightly as he looked out the window at Lord's Street Market, searching for a sign of Lisa and Alec returning from their little shopping trip. Brian's blonde Thinker teammate had _insisted_ that now was the best time for them all to go out and do a bit of shopping; well, except Rachel. The brash but loyal girl being wanted by the law sort of limited her options, which, in Brian's mind, probably contributed to her shortcomings where social interaction was concerned.

_Whuff!_ Went Brutus right next to Brian, making the young man jump slightly, "Jesus!" The big Rottweiler was right next to Brian's elbow, panting with a big doggy grin on his face.

"He wants pats," explained the girl Brian's thoughts had just concerned; unlike _every single time_ they'd previously gone out shopping or hanging out around the Boardwalk, Bitch had _insisted_ she come this time. Like every conversation he'd had with the girl, her intentions were unclear until Lisa came to the rescue.

Rachel wanted to be close by, in case Rabid showed up, so she could help them escape. To wit, she'd brought Brutus and Angelica, the terrier seated next to Rachel as the girl listened to a book on tape Lisa bought her. Call of the Wild, if he remembered correctly.

Brian couldn't argue with Bitch's logic; he knew that anyone who could take on and _beat_ Armsmaster and Glory Girl wasn't someone the Undersiders should tangle with. So he'd allowed it, in the event the crazy Tinker came calling, even if having Bitch around just made him more nervous.

Even Lisa's assurances that _Ash Crow_, as she'd insisted would be the frightening cape's name – and had started a flame war on PHO to that effect – wouldn't come anywhere near the Market… that still wasn't enough to help Brian's blood pressure. Though scratching behind Brutus' ears helped slightly.

A few more minutes were passed in peaceful silence, Brian watching people go about their day – though everyone looked as nervous as he felt – before Alec and Lisa appeared at the Market's exit.

The other male teen of the Undersiders was weighed down with at least ten bags, some of which were obviously Lisa's, while the girl walked along with two bags in one hand and her phone in the other, a smug grin stretching across her freckled face.

"Fucking finally," groused Rachel in the back seat of the Suburban their boss had given them for excursions like these. Brian let out an agreeing grunt, gave Brutus one last pat, and started the engine.

He'd finished his own shopping damn near thirty minutes ago, having picked up some new CDs, clothes, and some dog toys for Rachel's pets. Staying out in the open like this while the heroes were out in force, with a girl who had a Birdcage sentence hanging over her head in the back seat…

It was just asking for trouble. Not that Lisa cared, taking her sweet time and assuring him that nothing would go wrong.

No sooner had Brian finished this thought and drove the SUV toward the street, aiming to pick up both his remaining teammates before they arrived in the parking lot, Murphy decided to laugh in his face.

A blur flew out from stage left, slammed into and _through_ the bus stop shelter across the street, and slid a few feet before – slamming on the breaks in surprise, Brian's eyes went wide in disbelieving shock as Bitch yelled "The fuck?!" in the back, her dogs whining and moving closer to their master – the person twitched, heaved…

And vomited blood all over the sidewalk, before going mostly still.

Brian jerked forward as the Suburban screeched to a halt, right at the lot's exit, and stared.

People were screaming and running away from the ghastly sight, some of them pulling out phones to call the police – or take pictures; only in the Bay – while Brian continued to stare at _Stormtiger's _body. Another twitch of a leg. There was so much blood. He'd never seen someone get torn up _that_ badly…

Aegis, of the Wards, flew out of the sky, Clockblocker held in his arms; right after the white-armored hero dropped nimbly to the ground, he darted over to kneel by the Empire cape's body and touched it. Stormtiger went still. Aegis then put a hand to the side of his head and began speaking quickly, no doubt calling for back-up.

There was still a lot of blood all over the place.

The passenger door swung open, nearly startling Brian into using his power, followed by a pale-faced Lisa throwing her bags in front of her seat and clambering in while muttering, "Oh god oh god oh fuck oh god…" there was a speck of blood on her cheek. Why was there a speck of blood on her cheek?

Alec then got in through the door behind Lisa's, tossing his bags in without any sort of grace; the dark-haired teen then calmly asked, while climbing into the SUV, "We leaving or what?" Almost like he was asking whether they'd be ordering pizza or Chinese.

Brian looked back at the street ahead. Stormtiger was still laying in a pool of his own blood, Clockblocker kneeling at his side. Several Enforcers had gathered around the capes, helping to keep the public back and make way for the paramedics to arrive. Laserdream, of New Wave, dropped out of the sky and quickly said something to Aegis that made the red-clad Ward frown severely, before the blonde flyer shot away again, heading west.

_'What in the blue fuck?'_

"BRIAN!" Lisa's scream shook Brian out of his stupor; gathering his wits, he carefully drove out of the lot through a different exit, trying his hardest to look calm and collected.

Nothing to see here, just a group of teens making themselves scarce. The SUV might interfere with ambulances and police cars – it was pretty big after all – so he was just making sure it was out of the way. Nothing nefarious going on _here_, no sir!

His hands gripping the steering wheel until the knuckles went white probably didn't help the image of calm he was trying to portray, but Brian _really_ didn't care at that moment. The only thing on his mind was getting his team the _fuck_ away from whatever the _hell_ happened behind them.

Finally, after driving along for a few blocks, the traffic thinned out enough to allow Brian to park the car and try to regain his wits; the whole time, Lisa had been quietly swearing and tapping on her phone, Alec was quietly staring at his shoes – there was a little blood splatter there, Brian noticed when he looked back to check on his other two teammates – and Bitch was… glaring at him.

"Why'd you stop?" the butch girl growled, her dogs whining worriedly; the girl's face softened as she shushed them before going right back to glaring at Brian.

He didn't answer; he just looked at Lisa, who'd closed her eyes and was clearly trying to calm herself down. Then Brian looked at his hands, which were starting to hurt from gripping the wheel so tightly; he released it with a pained force of will, before scrubbing his face, trying to make some sense of… of…

He slapped the wheel in frustration, "What the _fuck_ just happened?!"

"Ash Crow happened," Lisa croaked, still looking a little pale – and that blood spot was still there, marring her freckles – when Brian turned his gaze to her; her green eyes met his, and for once, there was absolutely no humor in her expression, "Hookwolf found her, I'm _almost_ certain, and tried threatening her into joining the Empire with Stormtiger backing him up… and Cricket too, I think."

She then turned back to her phone, brow furrowed as she started checking… PHO.

Well, if anyone had the details on what'd actually happened, it'd be there, Brian figured as his heart rate dropped to manageable levels. Until the mods took it down, that is.

"Didn't go so well, I take it?" blithely stated Alec, sounding a little annoyed, but he didn't take his eyes off his shoes.

"No fucking shit, stupid," Rachel slapped her teammate over the head, saving Brian the trouble, "Can we go the fuck home now?"

"Yeah," Alec said slowly, not looking up, "I gotta mourn these shoes. Just bought these things, and now they've got Nazi blood on them."

Brian felt a scream about to tear out of his lungs, but was interrupted by Lisa… giggling?

"Heh… heh-heh… hehehe… hehehehe… AHH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" the blonde suddenly started cracking up right there in the passenger seat, making everyone – dogs included – look at her like she was crazy. Which, Brian felt, was a perfectly understandable reaction to someone _probably_ dying right in front of you.

She also still had a spot of blood on her face. It made Brian feel far more uneasy, especially as the girl hadn't stopped laughing like a madwoman yet.

As she caught her breath, Rachel barked, "What the _fuck_ is so funny, you crazy bitch?"

Red-faced and grinning hugely, Lisa just gasped and held out her phone for Brian to look at, "L-Look a-a-AHH-HAHAHAHAHA!"

Brian looked, Alec leaning forward to join him; both boys immediately gaped, before Alec started chuckling. He then took Lisa's phone and showed the screen to Bitch, adding, "Look what happened to Hookwolf."

In the driver's seat, Brian just stared blankly forward, finally allowing a slightly broken chuckle to leave his lips. _Holy shit_, was he glad they hadn't run into Ash Crow; to be fair, if that'd happened, they'd just start running in the opposite direction.

And Hookwolf had _clearly_ learned why attacking a cape as dangerous as Ash Crow was a terrible idea; between the Nazi bastard's clearly broken body and the _four porta-potties'_ worth of human waste he'd been plastered with… Hookwolf would probably be waking up in a cold sweat for the rest of his life, thinking about today.

"HE WILL!" Lisa crowed, pointing at Brian right as he finished that thought, the girl still hysterically laughing, which made Brian chuckle a little louder as Rachel let out a gruffly satisfied, "Serves the fucking dog killer right. Can we go home now?"

"Yes, Rachel. Yes we can," Brian finally found his voice, putting the SUV back into drive and heading back to base, a not-so-small part of him hoping their mysterious boss wouldn't try having the Undersiders recruit Ash Crow, as Lisa had informed him, these past few weeks, that their boss was getting rather insistent they find a fifth member.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye, at Lisa, who'd _finally_ cleaned the blood spot off her face and was still chuckling lightly to herself.

As Alec returned her phone, Lisa noticed Brian's look. She smirked darkly and shook her head.

Only then was Brian able to breathe easy. _'Thank god for that. I don't think we'd last a day, with a girl like _that_ on the team.'_

**.**

**[IRON]**

**.**

Sophia felt anxious.

When she'd woken in the M/S cell, her current location, Sophia had, at first, been terrified. Even after Dragon assured her that everything was under control and the PRT was looking for the _monster_, she'd been unable to calm down.

Just remembering that _face_, those _eyes_, and the feeling of **rage** pouring off the _monster_ in waves… it was enough to get Sophia cowering in the corner, hoping the beast didn't try hunting her down again.

She wasn't an idiot; the _monster_ wanted to kill her, had hunted her… which made Sophia prey.

She hated herself for thinking that way. _She _was a predator, damnit! But the _monster_… that was a bigger predator than she could handle. Fucking thing was terrifying; even with heroes and PRT troops all around it, it _still_ managed to nearly kill Sophia.

Eventually, Sophia got bored. It was taking _hours_ for anyone to show up, and Dragon was busy with something else. So she started pacing, replaying the horror she'd seen at Winslow, and tried to figure out where everything went wrong.

Her first mistake, obviously, was not bringing her costume and crossbows to school; if she had, then the _monster_ would've been prey, and Sophia would've taken it down in moments. Maybe. There was a lot she didn't know about the thing that'd chased her down like a rabbit.

At the end of the day, though, Sophia couldn't really fault the mistake; she'd been distracted by the prank she and Emma pulled on Hebert. Just another thing to blame on the loser. Sophia hoped the _monster_ gave the girl a scare; she also hoped it hadn't killed Hebert.

Sophia may have had no feelings in regards to Hebert's well-being, but killing the girl was way over the line.

And that was the second mistake: Hebert had probably been rescued by the Protectorate, after everything had died down.

Reading into Dragon's statement wasn't hard: Armsmaster and the others hadn't been able to stop the _monster_, and it'd escaped. Which, while worrying, Sophia couldn't bring herself to be surprised about; that thing was terrifying, even more than meeting Hookwolf or Oni Lee in a dark alley. At least with _them_, Sophia thought while rubbing her upper arms, you knew what you were in for.

In the aftermath, though, they'd probably found Hebert, and the little sheep was probably, even right now, telling all sorts of tales. Sophia wasn't worried much; between the _monster_ and Emma's dad, anything Hebert came up with would just get ignored.

Even if they didn't ignore her, at the first sign of challenge, Hebert and her worthless dad would fold; they didn't have the money or the connections Emma did, and accusing a Ward wouldn't go over well with Piggy.

On the other hand, Sophia hadn't been wearing the same clothes when she woke up; instead, she was wearing a spare outfit, jeans and a plain blue tee, she'd kept in her Ward's locker. Also, she didn't have either of her phones; less of a problem, as she'd erased any texts that would've tied her to Hebert.

Just in case, Sophia built a timeline in her head that kept her and the others far away from the locker; sure, she'd ask for her lawyer if it looked like Piggy wanted to interrogate her, but she felt it'd be important to make sure her story was straight before things got to that point.

She allowed herself a private smile. Emma had coached her well, and the rest of the students who'd been there were too afraid of losing out to rat on her. No way would Hebert get away with blowing the whole prank out of proportion.

A tingling echo of _pain_ came from her stomach, making Sophia press a hand to where the knife had penetrated her. Jesus fuck, but that'd been a close one.

According to Dragon, if Panacea hadn't just shown up, Sophia would've died to the knife; Dragon hadn't told her what that meant, beyond the fact that the _monster_ was a Tinker. Which just made everything worse. Fucking Tinkers were the worst sorts to plan for or around…

As if on cue, the door to her M/S cell opened, revealing a tense-faced Armsmaster.

"Finally," Sophia groaned, walking for the exit. She opened her mouth to ask what'd taken so long…

And noticed the squad of PRT troopers, with foam hoses and cattle prods… pointed at her.

That brought her thoughts to a halt long enough for Armsmaster to grab her shoulder and frog-march Sophia out of her cell, only saying two gruff words as he shoved her toward the M/S wing's exit, "Start walking."

Shrugging his hand off, Sophia wondered what the fuck was everyone's problem… well, beyond the _monster_ escaping.

To wit, she growled, "The hell did I do to – guhh!"

The last was courtesy of Armsmaster _shocking her_, punctuated with two more growled words, "No talking."

Sophia didn't like the way this was shaping up, but kept her mouth shut and her feet moving. She wasn't being stupid, either; she took stock of the situation and examined her surroundings, like she'd been trained last summer.

She wasn't in cuffs, so she wasn't a prisoner. They were still treating Sophia like one, though, so they were confident she couldn't escape or take them down; which was a huge _no duh_ in her mind. Armsmaster was with them, and Sophia had none of her gear; sure, she could probably trip that guy just so, make his foam hose go off in Halbeard's direction, and then take the others down…

But Sophia didn't know whether this cellblock was on the Rig, or at the PRT building downtown; which meant she needed to play it cool and be patient, until she could find out why they were treating her like _she _was the monster. So she got on the elevator.

That didn't mean she had to like it though, and glared at the side of Armsmaster's helmet the whole ride up. He ignored her.

When the doors opened, Sophia found that yeah, she was in the PRT building; as she was escorted down the hall, Sophia took note of where the doors and foam sprinklers were. If things went south, she'd find an office, jump out the window, and cheese it…

On the other hand, the young cape considered, as another twinge ran across her lower chest, where was safer? In here with the suits, or out there with the _monster_?

She was still weighing the pros and cons of making a break for it and trying her chances with the _monster_ – her spare costume was in her bedroom, and she hadn't told the PRT about four of her caches – when a door opened.

Miss Militia poked her head out, then back in; the hum of voices that had come out of the conference room when the door opened quieted.

_'Okay, so a debriefing then,' _Sophia figured, relaxing slightly; the tension ratcheted back up when Armsmaster gave her another poke and said, "In."

"I'm going, I'm going," Sophia groused, already wondering how much flak the Youth Guard would give the asshole, when she complained about her treatment; hell, Piggy might just get in on it. Everyone knew she had a hate-boner for Halbeard. He'd get his.

Then she stepped into the room. If Armsmaster hadn't been walking behind her, she would've froze at seeing the occupants; as it was, she kept her stride as professional as possible, while putting a small limp into it and rubbing her stomach, playing up the fact that she'd been wounded.

Legend sat halfway down the table, tapping his temple and staring at the opposite wall; or, that's what it looked like. Sophia had the sneaking suspicion he was watching her every move with his eyes, along with her wonder at what the leader of the whole Protectorate was doing here.

On the wall-mounted monitors, across the room, there were two people with a blank space between them; one was Dragon, typing away on a keyboard and flicking her eyes this way and that. The world's greatest Tinker didn't even acknowledge Sophia's presence, but that was understandable; Sophia figured Dragon knew how many steps she'd taken since leaving her cell.

The other was the _Chief Director_, who was watching Sophia like a hawk. She looked as angry as Armsmaster sounded. Leaning on the wall next to Costa-Brown's screen was Miss Militia, her arms folded and a shotgun on her back. Her eyes followed Sophia as she strode into the room, but there was no expression there.

Piggy was at the opposite end of the long table, flipping through a stack of copied papers; her steely eyes flicked up and met Sophia's for the briefest of seconds before returning to the paperwork in front of her, but that was enough for the teen to realize that Piggy was _pissed_. And the young cape noticed something else, too.

Both her phones were next to that stack of paper… and _so were Emma's and Madison's._

Armsmaster's hand grabbed Sophia's shoulder again and shoved her into the chair directly across Piggy's, before the Tinker took up a position next to the door, his own arms folded. Sophia couldn't form the words to tell him off for manhandling her, as her entire mind was fixed on the phones next to Piggy, a rock of worry filling Sophia's being.

Had they ratted her out? _'No, that doesn't make any sense. They have just as much to lose-'_

"How are you feeling, Ms. Hess?" Director Piggot asked as she turned a page, not looking up, "I understand you complained about lingering pain, after Panacea saved your life."

Swallowing, Sophia steeled herself; she'd just been tossed into a pool of sharks. She'd have to play this smart.

"Yeah," her voice sounded dry, even to her own ears, so Sophia pulled over a pitcher of water and a glass as she continued, "Uh, there's a flare-up, where the knife went in, every once in a while. I was hoping she could take a second pass, y'know?"

Piggot nodded sharply, still not looking at her, and replied, "We'll have her take another look at you, before you leave."

Sophia swallowed a big gulp of water and said, "Yeah, thanks," she looked around the room, "So, uh, I'm guessing you want my side of things?" She tried to keep her voice nonchalant and not look at the phones on the table; Sophia had deleted her own messages, but Tinkers were bullshit. If they accused her of anything, she'd just ask for Mr. Barnes and-

"Mostly, Ms. Hess," Legend began conversationally, folding his hands on the table and giving her a flat look, "We want to know what possessed you to terrorize one of your classmates for the past year and a half."

Oh. Sophia scoffed, having mentally prepared for this, "What, Hebert? Don't believe anything she tells you, it's all lies. That girl cries wolf all the time, just 'cause she ain't popular; it's why Emma – y'know, Emma Barnes, that's her phone – s'why Emma dropped her, because the girl's an attention whore."

She would've kept going, if Piggot hadn't suddenly looked right at her. There wasn't any movement of the woman's head, just her eyes, but Sophia suddenly felt pinned in place by that sudden shift in Piggy's focus. It was a cold, unamused gaze that said one thing: shut up or else.

Sophia wasn't stupid. Piggy was _livid_. She shut up.

Then the fat woman spoke, her tone flat as ever, "Ms. Hess, Ms. Hebert is the one who put a knife in you."

…_what._

For a long moment, Sophia stared at the PRT Director, feeling like she'd been transported to another universe where up was down and sheep were wolves, because there was no way that _Hebert_, of all people, was a predator.

The _monster_ was a predator. _Sophia_ was a predator.

The sky was blue, the Endbringers were scary, and Hebert was a fucking _sheep_. Full stop.

"Th-That…" Sophia's throat felt tight, but she was still smiling, because this_ must_ be some kind of joke, "That's not possible."

The serious, unamused gazes that she was met with brought her thoughts up short.

_'What's happened while I was out? Who ratted us out? Why are they acting like the _monster _is Hebert?!'_

Legend turned to Dragon, "Show her."

Dragon did something on her computer, and then…

An image appeared between Dragon and the Chief Director, the former speaking up with a tense voice, "I've given you control over the pictures and video, Armsmaster."

Sophia barely heard her, or Armsmaster thanking his fellow Tinker.

Because the image was of Hebert's locker.

Except it wasn't. It _couldn't be_.

The metal looked like it'd melted and pulled _away_ from the locker, like gray taffy; blood, shit, tampons, pads and bugs littered the floor. Most of the metal that should've been there, like the door and the lockers on either side, was outright _gone_. Boot prints walked away from the mushy crap on the floor.

_'No. No, she can't Trigger. Hebert can't Trigger! We fucking tried that, with the flute!'_

"Sophia," Legend. His voice was no longer conversational. It was like _iron_, "We have thirty students who are swearing they saw you shove Ms. Hebert into that vile _mess_. Can you give us a reason why?"

Sophia felt her mouth moving, but no words came out. The world didn't make sense anymore. Hebert was the _monster?_

Piggy 'tsk'ed and looked at Armsmaster, "Show her the rest," the Director then fixed Sophia with a piercing gaze, "Keep this in mind, Hess: _all of this is your fault."_

The images changed with a twitch of Armsmaster's finger, one after the other, showing Sophia what'd happened after Hebert, apparently, turned into the _monster_.

A wrecked classroom, most of the metal ripped away.

More lockers, their doors and frames removed by sharp claws.

Broken tiles on the floor, some of them _scorched_.

_'This can't be real.'_

The cafeteria kitchens. More empty spots where there should've been metal. Blackened bits scattered everywhere; Armsmaster spoke up, "Those black pieces are mainly comprised of various compounds that are commonly found in stainless steel and sheet metal." The image changed again.

A white sheet, covering a body; there was dried blood everywhere, along with the pieces of a Berretta. The security guard, Sophia realized as her stomach tried to find its way into her shoes.

The Chief Director's voice came from far away, "Did you know one of the guards had a firearm, Stalker?"

"No ma'am," Sophia croaked; she really hadn't. She'd have reported it, if she knew; Winslow was dangerous enough already without the security packing heat. That'd make the gangers nervous enough to call their bosses, and no one wanted Lung or Kaiser paying a visit.

Sophia also thought she knew which pictures would come next: of her escape and Armsmaster's fight.

She was half-right: it was actually a video, with the sound thankfully off.

Because the first thing Sophia saw was herself, from the view of a PRT trooper probably, flying through the air and hitting the street as Panacea and Aegis landed and rushed toward her, the healer's sister grabbing a wrought-iron bench and pulling it out of the sidewalk.

Sophia watched her past self's mouth fly open in a silent scream, back arching horribly as she started thrashing; Glory Girl flew past carrying that bench as Panacea reached the downed Sophia, Aegis taking position between the healer and the field. The trooper who took the video turned to follow the New Wave heroine's progress.

The fight that followed was ridiculously one-sided; the _monster_ – Hebert, apparently, which was so insane Sophia wanted to laugh at the very idea – took out Glory Girl like she was _nothing_, blasted past Armsmaster after giving him a blow that sent the armored hero spinning through the air… and then the _monster_ ran right at the barricade to the south of Winslow, dodging lasers, foam, and fucking _bullets_ as they made their escape.

The video ended as a manhole flew through the air, narrowly missing Kid Win.

_'That can't be Hebert. That's not Hebert, that's impossible.'_

"She vanished into the sewers," Armsmaster reported curtly, "No one spotted her again for five hours. Minutes after the video ended, however, the situation was further complicated… as a side-effect of her emotional Shaker ability made itself known…" his finger moved again. And again. And _again_.

Each image and silent video Sophia saw was like something out of a horror movie, or a report on the S9.

Her classmates attacked the police, the paramedics, the PRT, Velocity, each other, their eyes wide and crazed, spittle flying from their mouths. Blood on their hands. Bodies lying too still as the insane teenagers were restrained with containment foam and cuffs, some of them simply falling unconscious mid-struggle.

Sophia watched a short girl beat a taller boy's skull in with a _book_, screaming the whole time, until she was pulled off him by five cops and a paramedic.

She saw a police officer shoot another student in the head after the boy – wearing ABB colors – pulled a knife out of _Mrs. Knott_ and lunged right at the officer.

_'This can't be real,' _Sophia was shaking, but couldn't bring herself to look away, _'I didn't do this. I didn't…'_

Emma. Emma lunging at a girl who'd been trying to calm her down. Emma… tearing the girl's throat out with her teeth, before being tased. Emma, ignoring the electricity surging through her body and trying to attack the PRT trooper who'd shot her, bloody froth all over her screaming mouth, right before she was covered in con-foam.

The screen froze on a picture of hundreds of students, many of them restrained to beds, being examined by armored PRT and SWAT personnel, all of them looking confused and afraid. Sophia saw Emma's red hair amongst them.

_'Oh my god, I didn't do this!'_

"Two hundred and fifty-seven students were effected," growled Piggot, not taking her eyes off Sophia, who was quivering in her chair, "Six were, unfortunately, killed before the effect wore off. They killed twenty-two people and wounded another two hundred and _three_," the last word was said with a dangerous hiss, right when Sophia opened her mouth to deny that this was her fault.

A strangled sound came out of Sophia's mouth. This wasn't her fault! It wasn't!

Armsmaster cleared his throat, "Five hours after we lost sight of her, this happened," his finger moved, but Sophia didn't want to see any more. She looked at her lap.

Her hands were curled into fists, her knuckles white. _'I didn't do this, it's not my fault, I didn't-'_

Legend's hand slapped onto the table next to her, startling Sophia nearly out of her skin, before the hero whispered, "Watch."

Sophia looked up shakily… and was initially confused by what she saw.

Two… _blurs_, one shiny and the other trailing red – _blood_, her frayed mind supplied – flew out of the suburbs; the vantage was one she knew of: the top of the PRT building.

The video changed to a still image… and Sophia would've laughed, if her blood hadn't frozen in her veins.

_Hookwolf._ Broken and bleeding and covered in shit and blue water, at the end of a furrow.

_'Hebert… did this?'_

The image changed again.

Sophia nearly lost the small lunch she'd had in the M/S cell.

_Stormtiger_, covered in broken glass and injuries, the right side of his chest _caved in_ and a pool of blood surrounding him; Clock was kneeling at his side and looking up at a white blur that was holding another blur, this one edged with red and dirty. Glory Girl and Panacea.

"They were both knocked across multiple blocks, 10 and 28, respectively. Hookwolf was tended to by Othalla; Crusader and Fenja exfilled them to Brockton General, where Stormtiger was also brought, as the city's Parahumans agreed to a truce until Ash Crow could be captured," Legend bit out; Sophia had _never_ heard of Legend being angry. Being the target – secondary or not – made her feel very, _very_ small, "Stormtiger will need to stay overnight due to a concussion, as he was _barely_ able to mitigate his injuries with his power, but Hookwolf has since slipped into a coma. He might not wake up."

Truce. Hookwolf was in a coma. Kaiser was probably pissed. 257 kids got Smurf-ed. 22 fatalities. Over two-hundred injuries.

_All of this is your fault._

_'No! No… She Triggered. It's _Hebert's_ fault!'_

_Inciting a Trigger Event is a federal crime. Depending on the fallout, the punishment for the instigator ranges from a prison sentence to interment in the Birdcage._

Alexandria had… told her… that.

She… hadn't thought _Hebert_, of all people… could Trigger; Emma said the flute was the most important thing to her. And that… hadn't been enough…

_She'd forced Hebert to a Trigger._

The rock that'd been growing in Sophia's chest became a _mountain_, _'Oh fuck me.'_

Dragon spoke up then, "Ash Crow is Ms. Hebert's villain designation within the PRT and Protectorate; Ash Crow apparently decided that, due to a… PR mistake," Piggy winced for some reason, "discretion was the better part of valor, and fled the city. I have since deployed a craft to assist in the search for her, but Legend already searched the city's outskirts before this conference; there's no sign of her."

Sophia wanted to relax. The _monster_, Ash Crow, _Hebert_, was gone. She'd left the city, ran away.

Did that make her a coward, for running when the going got tough? Or… or did Hebert realize just how much damage she'd done?

Sophia didn't know. She clearly didn't know Hebert as well as she'd thought, after… all _this_.

All she had were the clear facts.

Hebert had humiliated the Protectorate and New Wave, and hospitalized two of Kaiser's best enforcers. The entire city would've been gunning for her in no time, if she'd stayed. Sophia knew this; that was how the villains and PRT operated. They went after Tinkers as soon as they found them.

And Hebert ran.

Leaving Sophia to take the blame.

"I didn't do this," she felt herself say; god, she sounded like a weakling! Sophia looked at the gathered capes and suits, and repeated, "I didn't do this."

Legend's face was a mask of anger, "You may as well have."

"Madison Clements has already given her testimony, as have many, _many_ others," Piggot ground out, cutting off Sophia's response to Legend's statement, "_You_ put that girl in the locker, Hess. _You_ all but tortured her for more than a year. _You_ incited a Trigger Event, in a **fucking school!**" the Director finished in a furious roar, before visibly calming herself with a large breath, "People are _dead_ because of your actions; your _peers_ are in Master/Stranger quarantine. That fucking riot played _live on national news_, Hess.

"You've more than broken your probation. You've _buried_ it."

"I want my lawyer," Sophia blurted. Mads might have backstabbed her, the two-timing bitch, but Emma's dad could still get her out of-

"He's been arrested as well," Miss Militia spoke up for the first time, her voice strained, "For colluding with Blackwell in embezzling PRT funds that were meant for revitalizing Winslow," the woman's gaze turned dark, "…which, if I recall, you reported was happening. Which makes you a potential accomplice."

…What.

_WHAT?!_

"What?!" Sophia gaped, looking between MM and Piggot; what in the _fuck_ was this?! "I told you they'd put in the metal detectors! T-They hired the security!"

"You also stated they fixed the fire alarms," Militia challenged.

"Yeah, because Blackwell _fucking told me they did!"_ what the fuck, what the fuck; how had this all gone from a prank to Hebert Triggering to… to…

"Whatever actually happened, Miss Hess," Costa-Brown informed the room icily, her tone saying she didn't believe a word Sophia had said, "you'll have plenty of time to think of your testimony when you get to your cell in Crossroads Juvenile Detention Center, in Brooklyn, New York," she paused to let that sink in, "As for Shadow Stalker, this is what's going to happen.

"A body double whose powers and physique resemble yours will take your place, and transfer to New York City's Wards before the week is up. Flechette will take your place in the Bay. While this happens, you will stay in Crossroads, where you'll give statements to the FBI and IRS, and meet with lawyers to prepare your testimony for the upcoming investigations into Winslow's corruption and the Youth Guard's practices."

Sophia looked down at her clenched hands again, not completely surprised about the Youth Guard – slimy fuckers; even Vista hated their guts – and nodded miserably.

Costa-Brown went on, "Once we have everything, and assuming we keep this all out of a courtroom, you will then observe video of how your body double behaves and do your upmost to emulate that behavior. You will be coached on how to do this. You will receive military and teamwork training from a PRT drill sergeant; your powers will remain secret. For all they know, you will be just another recruit in a sea of recruits; you'll be given a fake identity to further divorce your connection to Sophia Hess. After two months of this, you'll be placed in the care of our intelligence branch and assist in tracking and observation of S-class threats.

"And if there is a _single instance_ of you acting out, or going against orders, or negligence that results in human casualty," the Chief Director's face went stony, "we'll slap a shock bracelet on your ankle and send you to federal prison for the rest of your life, _like you deserve_. Be grateful, Ms. Hess, for the fact that we need Parahumans to help defend our nation against the many threats arrayed against us, or that would _most certainly _be your fate.

"Finally, once all this is said and done, and assuming you pull off a miracle and make it through," the woman sneered, "your body double will be caught in a scandal and be transferred to the Alaskan PRT branch, and you will be re-equipped with Tinker-tech armor that compliments your power, and Mr. Chambers will tell you what your new cape name will be. You will then migrate between the New York, Philly and Chicago branches, assisting in operations where needed."

While the Chief Director spoke, Legend collected a stack of papers and a pen from next to Director Piggot, who looked more pissed than Sophia could ever remember, and set what turned out to be a stack of paperwork in front of Sophia, laying the pen across the top.

The first one was an NDA regarding Hebert.

Sophia had only felt more helpless than this _once_ in her life. _That_ time, though… still worse than this.

"M-My mom?" Sophia swallowed, not looking at anyone; she hadn't been on good terms with her mother, but her brother… her baby sister….

"Your mother has been informed. They'll be protected, as they didn't have anything to do with… this."

Sophia didn't know or care to know who said it; it told her all she needed to know.

Her mom had cut her off.

She was alone. Again.

Sophia wanted to scream, to rage, to try running… none of it would work, not with Legend here, not after… after _everything_ that'd happened today. There was no way out.

But given the choice of going to juvie and boot camp before getting rebranded, trying to run, or going to actual fucking _prison_…

Sophia picked up the pen, and started filling out the paperwork.

Hebert was still out there; the fucking bitch already made it clear that she didn't care about anyone anymore. Sure, that was Sophia's fault, but that didn't mean she'd be putting herself in the crazy bitch's path.

So she'd sign her life away, because Hebert took every other choice away. It didn't burn as bad as Sophia thought it would. Probably the offer of military training.

If it took her a year, or twenty, she'd get Hebert back for this. Sophia wasn't prey. She wasn't a sheep.

Some of the room's occupants were leaving, but Legend paused by her and stated calmly, "Also, Sophia, keep two things in mind," his voice hardened, "None of this would've happened if you'd just _stopped_."

She flinched at the reminder, but still managed to say, "I know. Sir." The pen felt heavy as she put the first NDA aside and picked up another, this one for the meeting she'd just gone through.

"Also, you got off light, all things considered."

Sophia let out a dry laugh, her vision blurring a little "I nearly got killed, my family disowned me, and I'm goin' to prison," she choked back the tears and glared at Legend, who kept his face impassive, "How the _fuck_ is this lucky?"

He tilted his head to one side, and flicked a hand at the screen, "You could've been Cricket." And he left, Armsmaster right at his heels.

Sophia turned to look at the screen slowly; Miss Militia was still in the room, doing something on her phone.

It was Cricket. Sophia knew that outfit anywhere.

Her right arm was twisted and bruised, a white bone sticking out near the wrist; the leg on the same side was bent at an unnatural angle, a small pool of dark brown staining the clay-colored dirt where the cape lay…

And everything above her shoulders was hidden by a white sheet, surrounded by more dark stains and pieces of metal that looked suspiciously like the cage Cricket wore. There was no indication of where the woman's head had been.

Soph-no. Shadow Stalker glared at the image of Cricket's corpse, remembering her fights with the woman, the other capes that'd been killed by the racist bitch, and asked as calmly as she could, given the circumstances, "Where's her head?"

Miss Militia didn't bother looking up as she replied, "Under the sheet. We had to scrape it off the ground with a shovel."

Sophia nodded numbly, to show she understood, then turned back to her paperwork, contemplating ways to make Hebert pay without killing herself.

**.**

**[IRON]**

**.**

_"Whoaa, Black Betty! Bam-a-lam! Whoaa, Black Betty! Bam-a-lam!"_

Cherish nodded her head along to Ram Jam's greatest hit while removing a rather _nice_ Rolex from an insensate man's wrist, a wide grin splitting her face.

No cops for several miles, a roadside diner full of people who'd also _somehow_ decided to stop here, and one of them was driving a dark green 1966 Cadillac deVille convertible, a three-figure step up from the Civic she'd stolen back in Toronto?

Yes, things were looking up for Cherie Vasil's grand foray in the wide world, and she was only three weeks into it!

Escaping her – _hrrk_ – father's compound, and slipping through the Guild-assisted Mountie blockade, was actually the hardest part of the whole venture.

Finding emotionally vulnerable people to coerce into giving her essentials like money and an untraceable Toybox phone – no way was she missing her soaps, and trolling PHO was just so _entertaining_ – and using her powers to avoid the various law enforcement bodies down here in the wild US of A, on the other hand…

Cherish smiled disarmingly at the owner of that gorgeous vintage Caddie as he numbly signed away his car to her. That she was caressing her precious Glock probably would've helped him speed things up, if Cherish hadn't been manipulating the stockbroker's emotions.

Like taking candy from a baby.

_'Okay, let's see,'_ she mused after taking the greying old man's pink slips and keys while giving him the ones she'd weaseled off that college student two weeks ago, taking stock of all the other hopelessly melancholic and insensate people in the diner, _'Some money but not too much: check. Food: check. Security footage destroyed: check. Swag,'_ she tried on the Rolex; not her size, but would make good bribery material in the future, and there was plenty of jewelry weighing down her purse,_ 'Also check!'_

Now, all she needed was a good scapegoat or ten… oh! Those three truckers with the Confederate flags on their jackets sure looked suspicious!

Smiling even wider, Cherish skipped out of the diner to the continuing legacy of Black Betty and her wild child, and sauntered over to her brand new – to her – convertible Caddie.

After taking some time to move all her belongings over from the beat-up Civic, and quickly changing the plates, Cherie hopped into the driver seat, checked her mirrors, and, after taking a moment to wrinkle her nose at the old man smell all over the leather, drove out of the diner's parking lot and down the highway, headed east.

Once she had a good mile between her and the diner, she changed the music of the occupant's feelings from crippling depression to blinding rage – there was plenty of that – and directed said rage at the three truckers, who she'd given a healthy dose of arrogance and pride to, so they'd look like the ones that'd actually robbed everyone in the place. The amount of rage she'd inflicted on everyone _might_ give them brain damage due to the sudden mood swing, but they were all unlikely to remember her anyway; melancholy was useful like that.

Oh, and she switched on the radio.

The final strains of Black Betty eventually gave way to a PRT report, one which Cherish had been waiting _all day_ for!

_"Attention: this is a region-wide warning against a villainous Parahuman. Be on the lookout for an individual wearing armor with red eyes and the head of a jackal. This villain, Ash Crow-"_

Ah, so they'd changed it? Cherish smiled; that was a much better and more imposing name than Rabid. She _loved_ the ring to it, and couldn't wait to purr it into Ash Crow's ear, as she seduced and manipulated the wrathful teenager into working for her.

_"-is known to be armed and extremely dangerous."_

Which was _exactly_ what Cherish needed! Sure, her initial plan involved gaining the attention of the Slaughterhouse Nine and taking control of their strongest members, before using them to strike back at her – _hrrk _–father, but there were just _so many_ unknowns where those murderers were concerned.

Would her power even work on the Siberian? Or Crawler, for that matter? Had Bonesaw installed some Tinker bullshit that prevented Master influences? Too much was unknown, and Cherish didn't have enough information to make a reliable plan of action.

Besides, Cherish thought while fishing a clove out of her blouse and lighting it, she didn't have much experience in dealing with career murderers, some of whom had quite abominable reputations indeed.

Better to try her luck with a lesser if still dangerous individual, before trying to subvert someone as dangerous as Jack Slash, someone who'd attained a Kill _and_ Flee-on-Sight (for normals) Order in the past twenty years.

_"Under no circumstances should you approach her. If seen, contact your local PRT branch-"_

Cherish wondered what else was on. A quick fiddle with the tuner gave her some boss AC/DC. She grinned in eager anticipation as the sweet sounds of Hell's Bells' first chorus filled the car and the first trucker was killed in the diner; a State Trooper flew past without a second glance at her new car, so Cherish sped up, singing along to the second verse.

Ash Crow would be hers, and then Cherish would be untouchable.

_I'll give you black sensations, up and down your spine!  
If you're evil, you're a friend of mine.  
See the white light flashing as I split the night;  
'Cause if good's on the left,  
I'm stickin' to the right!_

**.**

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**.**

_Foreshadowing foreshadows…_

And that's the end of Arc 1! I hope everyone enjoyed it!

There will be two Interludes in the next few months, and then Arc 2, Smelt, will come out. Don't know when, because I have _so many_ other stories to write about, but I haven't abandoned a story yet!


	8. Smelt 1

**Well blow me down, I'm updating this finally.**

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**IRON**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Smelt 2.1**

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**.**

**.**

A week blurred by in a stressful haze of hiding, making metal compounds that would one day shake the skies, and… coping.

I'd killed two people. While Cricket _definitely_ deserved it, the security guard was just doing his job; on the other hand, I was pretty sure the rent-a-cops weren't supposed to be carrying .45 caliber handguns with hollow-point, nickel-tipped bullets.

So I didn't feel _too_ bad about it, especially with Guts' assurance that I wasn't a bad person at all. **_/We don't control what hand we're dealt, only how we play it./_ **was how he put it.

While digging one of those bullets out of my rib. The _asshole._

Still, he had a point. I didn't want to get shoved in the _locker_, fight Armsbluster and Gormless Girl – seriously, I was going toe-to-toe with the leader of the Protectorate ENE, what did she think was going to happen – or get into a tussle with three _fucking_ Nazis, but…

Well, all things considered, I'd handled things pretty well. Collateral damage was minimal, only two people – that I knew of – got killed, and I'd managed to shake off any pursuers, left the city to prevent reprisals from both heroes and villains. It could've been worse… _much_ worse.

Kaiser could've gotten involved.

With his ability to manipulate metal and control the battlefield… given that I could manipulate the atomic composition of a metal by _hitting it_ – hammers or fists, but hammers were better – I would've been his nemesis. And the collateral damage would've been _much_ higher.

Dragon Slayer wasn't a forgiving weapon, after all, and with the amount of metal Kaiser could bring to bear, I would've been able to forge it in about an hour… after making an impenetrable shell of adamantium around myself, of course.

But Kaiser didn't get involved. He was likely _really_ furious at me, though.

I was pretty sure Hookwolf, at least, was out of commission, and Stormtiger probably had a concussion due to how hard I hit him. And Cricket… well, she was never getting back up again.

Hookwolf's threat against Dad still nagged at me, but I was pretty sure Kaiser wouldn't do anything. When one of the Empire killed Fleur in her civilian identity, the big Nazi made an example of the perpetrator. Dad would be safe… he _better_ be safe, or I'd hold true to my promise.

Once I got back, anyway. I needed to prepare, and I couldn't do that at home, not after trashing everything in my path. The Bay needed time to cool down; that would happen faster if I wasn't there to meke things escalate. Villains would either want me dead or recruited, the "heroes" would want me imprisoned; I wanted neither.

So Guts and I were on the road; we had food, and I was able to squeeze in some Tinkering while we scurried from abandoned town to abandoned town, making our way north.

We were stopped over one hundred miles away from the Bay; Guts had turned west that first night, then north again. I was fairly sure we were in Vermont, given all the mountains. There were a few abandoned farms in the area, which gave me a chance to smelt some samples of the rarer – and insanely difficult to make – materials I could work with. So I had food, and could Tinker to keep busy while Guts watched for anyone following us.

It took my mind off the dreams I had every night…

_My sword was too far to reach don't touch me no don't why no three silver-_

_Take the Claw parry slash kill him and they'll falter why am I still fighting for-_

_Between me and escape the fools kill kill get away get Griffith out-_

**_ECLIPSE_**_._

I shivered, shutting my eyes briefly at the ghost of _Donovan's_ hands on my body, the feeling of warm blood splattering across my face on the fields of Doldrey, and… the _Godhand_.

…to be honest, Guts' memory of facing Zodd was more, vivid, stark I suppose, than most of the other memories.

Griffith's betrayal – it was easier to think of it that way, than for the grotesque event it truly was – while unreal and horrific… Guts could barely remember it. There were only fragments of what happened at that lake.

After… well, to put it simply, Guts' entire life was an unbelievable litany of nightmarish violence.

Including his childhood. By Guts' standards, I _was_ a pampered noble, simply for the fact that I could have hot food whenever I wanted, went to a school, and was never in a serious fight or… yeah, I had it good.

Not that Guts thought so; apparently the memory thing worked both ways. I assumed it was a product of the Berserker Armor. Guts certainly thought so, even though the memories of his wearing the Armor were just as disjointed as everything after… the lake.

Still, Guts thought my situation was pretty terrible. Not compared to how I felt about his upbringing, never mind that I couldn't see how his story ended, but he still felt for my plight… in his unique way, of course.

To put it simply, and to bring everything back to the present, **_/Lemme make sure I got all this right… Your mother died, your father can't get over it, your favorite local hero is dead, your _other_ favorite hero got cut up, and to top it all off your best friend terrorizes you for nearly two years, finishing up with trying to murder you. I got all that, right?/_**

I nodded, not taking my eyes off the cast iron pot full of boiling metal in front of me, "Pretty much."

**_/Okay. That best friend of yours? I'd have killed her after she busted your mother's flute./_**

"I'm not you," I muttered, poking the blue-hot coals with a metal rod.

**_/No, you're not. So stop getting all mopey. The shit I went through before that is over, mostly because I decided not to put up with it. You did the same thing, but that doesn't make you me./_**

"Still not gonna put up with it," I growled, then stiffened and hit the side of the pot with my mallet in a rhythm I instinctively understood; the metal inside turned a tie-dye of copper and purple.

I smirked and stirred the fresh batch of vibranium; it wasn't much, and cost me most of my rare elements to make, but it was a good start for making the tools I needed to forge and shape adamantium and darksteel, "No more fucking Nazis, no more drug-dealers, and if I can figure out a way to make Lung fuck off to somewhere else… all the better."

**_/Heh. Almost feel sorry for the fuckers./_** I could practically _feel_ Guts' smirk in the back of my mind.

My eyebrow twitched. Mostly because I could remember that smirk through the eyes of someone _other than _Guts.

Caska.

I _really _didn't want to think about that. Tinkering was better.

Carefully – because if I so much as spilled a _drop_ of vibranium, it would go straight through the floor of the abandoned farmhouse basement and hit the Earth's mantle – I picked up the pot of boiling violet-bronze wonder metal and _extremely carefully_ poured it into a series of wrought iron, silverite-lined molds I'd hammered out over the past two days.

With only two and a half gallons of vibranium to work with, I needed to keep my first tools simple; it wasn't like I was in a factory, working with a volcanic smelter and esoteric anvils. I was in a spider-infested _basement_, using a fire pit, a mallet, the scraps I tore from Hookwolf's shit, and a modified cooking pot.

Two detail hammers, a forge-mallet, tongs, and six differently-gauged chisels. The bare bones of a smith's tools. It didn't seem like much, but…

I picked up each mold – with the rusty but serviceable tongs I found in the nearby barn – and dipped them into a series of water-filled barrels; good thing there was a small pond a quarter mile away. The hissing and steam that came out of each one, the sharp snapping sound of the mold's outer shells cracking under the strain…

A wide smile split my face as I lifted a solid vibranium mallet from its mold; the handle was thin, the head not as big as the iron mallet I'd been using, but it was _worlds_ better than iron.

Guts whistled in my head, **_/Nice… why are you doing this again? You've already got tools./_**

My satisfied smile turned into an evil grin.

_CLANG._

**_/YOW! WHAT THE… fuck?/_**

Silver meshed with the red and black of the Berserker Armor, rippling through each plate and ring in a wave that originated at the center of my chest. Sure, it _hurt_, driving the air out of my lungs, but it was _so _worth it.

All the pain, even Armsbluster cutting my shoulder, was nothing to the _accomplished _feeling in my heart.

Though I still coughed before I explained, watching the silver light fade to a subtle shine, "Whoof, ha. Remember that patch I put on? It's permanent now," smirking at the _mildly_ buxom chest – and wondering what my body looked like – I asked, "How's it feel?"

The armor shivered against my skin – reminding me that I was practically naked under it – followed by Guts humming and admitting, **_/Feels pretty good. We'll be better at sneaking around now, right?/_**

I nodded, then shook my hair out and added, "And if anyone tries to fight us, they'll be weakened if they get up close."

**_/Good. Some of the fuckers you know about are scary./_** there was no fear in Guts' tone, just fact.

We'd both agreed: without proper weapons – I _ached_ to re-forge Dragon Slayer, or create one of the _really_ awesome weapons I'd read about, like Gae Bulg, Xihuacoatl, and Ringil – without good deterrents from people pushing me around, I was a squishy if strong 15-year old girl wearing a badass suit of armor. Neither of us were invincible; Armsbluster showed us that, and there were _much _scarier people and things out there.

I didn't even want to _think_ of what might happen if the Nine found us before we were ready.

In the distance, I heard the sound of a helicopter. Pursing my lips, I counted my blessings; it was nighttime, and the flying machine was pretty far away. With the Ebony Mail's weakening and concealing abilities integrated into the Berserker Armor, finding us would be very difficult.

"North," I said as I got everything ready to move, storing my new tools in a curtain I tore from the house above us, destroying the fire pit, and hammering the pot I used flat with my new mallet before shoving it into the materials/tools duffel; checking the food one, I sighed, "We'll need more food soon."

**_/Okay. You get some sleep, I'll find us a deer or something,/_** promised Guts, the Armor shifting and screeching as the jackal helm slithered over my head right when we stepped outside, **_/Plenty of forests around here, shouldn't be too hard… I'm just glad that fucking brand is gone./_**

I sighed again in relief, both for that, and the fact that the helicopter was heading south, if the lights that way were telling things right, "You and me both."

Moments later, we were shrouded in black smoke, heading north toward the Green Mountains. Most of the state was abandoned, had been since Ellisburg, and Newfoundland after that.

This just meant that we'd be left to our own devices, so long as we were discrete, and no idiots came to bother us.

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[IRON]

.

"Ahh-_choo!_" sniffing, a weedy young man in his early twenties wiped his nose with a sleeve, "Stupid early spring pollen," he paused, then smirked, "Or maybe some cute girl's talking about me. Either or."

Shrugging the sneeze off, Leet turned to the passenger window of the RV and looked at Brockton Bay from his vantage on Captain's Hill; he sighed tiredly.

It'd been a long week, since – _shudder_ – Ash Crow worked over the Protectorate, PRT, and New Wave… and that was just for breakfast.

A Master/Stanger quarantine turned into the darkest day in Brockton since poor Merrow was murdered. Hookwolf flying through a row of port-a-potties, followed by Stormtiger shooting across the sky and murdering a defenseless bus stop shelter with his face, and Cricket… having to get scraped off the ground with a _shovel_.

It would've been funny, if all those events didn't point straight back to – _squirm_ – Ash Crow.

Leet knew why the violent cape gave him the heebie-jeebies: that armor she wore. It _didn't make any sense!_

[ablative/reactive platemail; high potential durability, better than Armsmaster's; indi^^*%$^!]

Mostly because looking at it with his Tinker power active gave Leet a headache; that'd never happened before, and the fact that it _kept_ happening was throwing Leet off his game. But that was all about to change!

Because Uber and Leet were _leaving_.

The weedy young man drummed his fingers on the dashboard of the modified RV/mobile base and wondered what was taking Uber so long to finish shopping. It was just some food, and a few select materials Leet _absolutely_ needed from the hardware store.

The past week had been tough for the Bay's population.

Most of the kids from Winslow, the ones that ended up in quarantine, had been let out. Unfortunately, Winslow got shut down – thank zombie Jesus; Leet'd heard about that place, and _ugh_ – so none of said kids were going to school. Which wouldn't fly with the government, of course, so most of them got assigned to one of several other high schools.

Except Arcadia. Because nepotism or something. Leet didn't actually care, mostly because of all the Nazi get-togethers that'd been going on.

Why Nazi rallies? Well… turned out that Ash Crow _did_ kill someone, besides that stupid, _stupid_ security guard.

Cricket.

Honestly, Leet mused with a curled lip, that bitch got _exactly_ what she deserved; he wasn't alone, either. Three days after Winslow, Uber met Parian and Tempest at the Boardwalk for a little collab of the puppet show kind; the two independents seemed happy that Cricket was dead and her partners in murder hospitalized. Served them all right, by pretty much everyone's standards. Everyone who mattered, anyway.

And what did Kaiser do in response? Swore revenge. No, worse than that.

As soon as Legend left the city, he'd gone on the attack, blaming everyone else for allowing Ash Crow to leave. The E88 was flexing its muscles, pushing against the ABB, the PRT, the Merchants – hell, Uber and Leet tried to do a Mario Kart skit, only to get fucking _shot at_ by Victor and Alabaster!

In response, Lung ended up all-but pushing the Merchants out of the Bay – there were rumors that Skidmark was dead, and Squealer was last seen driving toward the DWU – the PRT was starting to get jumpy on their triggers – apparently the Undersiders got shot at when they knocked over a pawn shop – even New Wave was getting in on the action, pushing back at the Empire alongside the Protectorate. From the sound of things, Faultline was looking at businesses on the other side of the country, and Parian had all but thrown in with the DWU, who the ABB were apparently protecting.

Long story short, the Bay wasn't looking good for Uber and Leet at the moment.

It only took a little planning – and talking with their Subscribers – but the godly duo had a new plan: they were going on a road trip to the Adirondacks, to get some _big_ skits ready and clear their heads. Nobody lived out that way, between the New York and the Green Mountain Region. Probably because Ellisburg was right there.

In the rearview mirror, Leet spotted Uber driving up in their trusty station wagon – sans the Ghostbuster mods, as they needed to be discrete – and smiled before starting the engine on the RV, which had been converted into a mobile lab/apartment.

They weren't going anywhere near Ellisburg, of course. Nah, they'd just find somewhere out of the way, in the former state of Vermont, and camp out for a few weeks, maybe a couple months if they could manage it.

"Ready for this nerd trip, bro?" called Uber – Andrew –after pulling alongside the RV, grinning up at his partner in crime and gaming.

Leet – Calvin – grinned right back, "You know it, dude! Let's hit the road!"

And so they did, Andrew taking the lead, Calvin flipping off the Bay as they rode away from the Hill and headed for the interstate.

_Anything _was better than staying in that powder keg.

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[IRON]

.

Weld _carefully_ stepped into Director Armstrong's office, taking extra care to avoid the metal molding; looking toward his mentor – and the closest thing he had to a dad, since waking up – he found the usually worn if positive man looked… tired, "You wanted to see me, Kamil?"

"Weld. Have a seat, lad," the aging man said, gesturing at the only chair in front of his desk; it was then that Weld noticed the two people on the wall-mounted display: Dragon, who gave him a friendly smile… and the Chief Director, who looked like she was reading something unpleasant on her desk and didn't bother looking up.

That set the young man on edge.

The past week was one of the most stressful in living memory, if what his fellow Wards told him was right: a bombing at the Cornell campus near NYC, the Fallen vanishing right afterward, the Teeth had picked up and moved on – while Weld wasn't going to miss them, everyone was worried where the Butcher might go next – Mouse Protector was involved with _something_ that included Quarrel and several unidentified capes in New York before disappearing too, and, last but not least, the Winslow Incident in Brockton Bay, where a new Trigger wiped the floor with _both_ of the local hero teams, crippled two infamous Nazis and killed their partner, then escaped Legend's attempt to find them.

Weld only briefly wondered which incident he'd be sent to as he took the offered seat. Fortunately, it seemed Director Armstrong wasn't about to beat around the bush.

"What have you heard about Ash Crow?"

_Now_ the Chief Director looked at Weld; not surprising, really.

Quickly wracking his brain, Weld shrugged, "High-level combat Thinker and Brute with a Tinker sub-rating. She's recently Triggered, and, um, no one can find her."

PHO and the briefing his team went through only had speculation and theories to go on; no one, it seemed, really knew much about Ash Crow.

Dragon spoke up, "Both the Protectorate Thinkers and Guild assets believe the Teeth, and the branches of the Fallen that've gone silent, are on the move due to her actions in Brockton Bay. We're not sure if she's been recruited yet…"

When the Tinker paused to take a sip of coffee, the Chief Director bit out, "But then, we're not trying very hard to find her."

Blinking, Weld looked at Armstrong, who nodded with a tense expression.

That… wasn't how things were usually done, especially in the case of Tinkers, "Why not?"

"Because, Weld," the Chief Director continued, "with a week's prep time, we don't know what implements Ash Crow might've created. Preliminary analysis indicates that," she glanced at her desk, "Ash Crow _may_ have a higher Tinker rating than we first estimated. Dragon?"

"Mm, yes. Ash Crow managed to escape Brockton Bay far too quickly, given the heroic assets present at the time. One moment, we had her on thermal and x-ray, and then… poof," the world's greatest Tinker clapped her hands, "Nothing. Gone."

"She can make Stranger tech?" asked Weld, starting to get a _little_ alarmed. He'd seen what Ash Crow did to that Nazi, Cricket – the censored pictures, anyway – and if she could sneak into Boston…

"Yes," admitted Dragon in a tired voice, "Which means she may be able to develop other tech that mimics powers."

Kamil Armstrong nodded, "The bright side is that she can't develop any Tinker-tech that isn't a forged object; the weapon she used didn't incorporate any microchips, nor did the knife, and while both Tinkers and Thinkers only get the bare-bones from her armor, we can assume this trend continues there. Which is why…" the aging man sighed sadly, "…given your unique abilities, you've been selected to try bringing her in."

Weld took a deep, _deep_ breath… and thought about it.

On the one hand, it was fucking _Ash Crow_. A lot of people were making parallels to Ash Beast: an uncontrollable force of nature that could only be redirected, never fought. The Winslow quarantine revealed what happened when Ash Crow was fought. Even if you won, even if you made her retreat, you still _lost_.

On the other hand, they were right; if Ash Crow _needed_ to make all her projects out of metal, Weld was the best suited for facing her down… unless she'd created something that could trump his ability to absorb metal, because, as most of his peers liked to say, 'Tinkers are bullshit'. Even then, it was unlikely; he'd absorbed some of Dragon's custom armor, not long after waking up.

The resultant memes… well, at least he'd met a few musicians due to his popularity.

But this mission…

"Bring her in?" Weld, understandably, didn't like the sound of that, even with his unique advantages.

"To be more accurate," amended the Chief Director with a wince, sounding sympathetic, "we're not asking you to take her down; facing Ash Crow's level of ferocity isn't for the inexperienced or faint of heart. No, all we're asking is you make contact, attempt to communicate with her, and, if everything goes well and she _doesn't_ try to kill you, find out how her Tinker-tech works."

Dragon nodded eagerly, adding, "If she can be convinced to provide materials, at _least_, it'll be in our benefit."

Weld sighed, leaning back a little in the wooden chair, making it creak. _That_ was a relief. All he had to do was talk to her. No problem there; Weld was good with people.

There was just one more question, "Should I suggest she join the Ward-"

"**No.**" all three of his interlocutors said at once, only the Chief Director continuing, in an _icy_ tone, "You do not bring up the Wards or your place in the Protectorate _at all_. You will be assigned a veteran Parahuman overseer, who you'll be answering to for the interim. Under _no circumstances_ are you to mention your Wards membership _or_ your mission. Are we clear, Weld?"

Weld blinked.

Something was being hidden, but it wasn't his place to question it.

Actually, given what they were asking, it kind of _was_, "Yes, ma'am, but," he stared his father figure in the eye, "May I ask why?"

"Not here," Armstrong said quietly, lips pursed as he slid a folder to Weld, explaining as the young Ward opened it to a picture of a tired, if serious-faced, dorky girl with curly black hair, "That's the last yearbook picture of Ash Crow in her civilian identity. The rest of the folder is a Think Tank summary of what might trigger another rage-state in the girl; you'll memorize that and give it back to me before leaving for Hartford. Don't show it to the other Wards, and don't worry; we've already worked out a cover story for your absence. Once you link up with your contact, they'll tell you why you shouldn't mention the Wards."

Weld nodded absently, then glanced at the screens; the Chief Director wasn't there any longer, but Dragon was, so Weld asked, "Who's my field contact?"

They told him.

Despite the fact that the cape in question had more experience than him, Weld developed a _very_ bad feeling about how the mission would turn out. At least Dragon would be able to exfil them if things went wrong…

Which, given who was in charge… he decided to hope for the best… and to bring as much of his music collection as possible.

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[IRON]

.

Quarrel looked around the forest, fingers shaking on her pulled bowstring; the sound of the pursuing cars faded into the distance, heading… west, from the sound of things.

She let out a long, slow sigh of relief. The Fallen had _really_ wanted her for some reason, going so far as to try using Ravager and some brainwashed kids – _fucking Valefor if she ever spotted the inbred hick cunt again she was gonna nail his balls to a tree _– to make it happen. But she'd shaken them off…

On the downside, it was unlikely that she'd be able to return to her gang in the NYC... mostly because they were dead…

"Ah-HA!"

"GAHHH!" screamed Quarrel, shocked right out of her depression – and the tree she'd been hiding in – by the _other_ cape the Fallen had been after, who deftly caught the lanky young woman by an ankle before she could fall too far… while hanging upside-down by her knees.

"Thought you could become my apprentice and give your illustrious master the slip, eh?" the bullshittiest cape who ever put on a mask crowed, defying Quarrel's paint-stripping glare with the cheesiest of grins, "Well you've got another _several dozen_ things coming! Just because you can avoid some two-bit villains doesn't mean you can shake the-"

"Greatest hero who ever lived – can you _please_ put me down?!" Quarrel interrupted her 'mentor's' idiotic posturing. Who knew if _Valefor_ left a few mooks behind to look for them?!

Said tagalong huffed… and dropped her.

Quarrel wasn't a newbie, though, and landed on her feet with a thump; the other, older woman simply landed with quiet grace next to her, before declaring, "As your _talented, humble_," Quarrel rolled her eyes, earning her a shield-bash to the back of the head, making the archer eat mossy grass, "_patient_ teacher has dealt with the last stragglers, the path to the next leg of our training adventure has been opened for us! Now come, Grasshopper!"

The petite armored woman used Quarrel's butt as a stepping stone, hopping off her and doing an acrobatic maneuver that would break lesser men's spines before addressing the younger woman again, "We have an important meeting with a strapping young lad, who shall aid us in your final test in becoming a hero!"

Spitting out a mouthful of grass, Quarrel opened her mouth to retort hotly… then spotted the rock her 'mentor' was tossing into the air and catching, an evil grin splitting the ridiculous woman's face.

If it wasn't for the fact that she had _literally _no choice but to follow the admittedly dangerous cape so she wouldn't end up like her… team, Quarrel would've bolted back to Manhattan and taken her chances with Legend…

But the odds of someone noticing her in transit were too high to risk. And her 'mentor' _had_ promised a pardon, if Quarrel could follow through in her insane "lessons".

She shut her gob, reminded herself she _needed_ to deal if she wanted to stay a free woman, and growled, "Where are we going?" the rock turned out to be a dirt clod – _thank Christ_ – which shattered against her left knee.

While the archer cursed, the veteran cape wagged a finger and chided her, "Firstly, watch your language. Secondly, a hero must _always_ mind her tone. Thirdly, and _most_ importantly, we are going north!" a sword was drawn and pointed in said direction, "For we, along with your future peer in apprenticeship, shall be bringing down a most diabolical, menacing, despicable villain, so they might face the dubious justice of the United States' federal government!

"Tremble in fear, Ash Crow, and beware!"

Quarrel suddenly felt the need to fletch more arrows. Maybe she could get a second quiver?

"For the slayer of cats, the champ-een of cheese, the one and ONLY _Mouse Protector_, is coming for your hide!"

A bird twittered nearby as the mouse-themed vigilante struck a heroic pose in the soggy forest glade.

"...okay, but can we hit up a Wal-Mart first? I need more arrows."

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**And thus, the plot thickens... **

**Next time: Taylor and Guts find an abandoned hardware warehouse, and Cherish locates her target!**


	9. Smelt 2

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**[IRON]**

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**Smelt 2.2**

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I didn't know if the town we arrived at ever had a name. All the street signs – and most of the easily-accessible metal for that matter – was long gone, taken by other Tinkers or transients, most likely. One thing was for certain: no one had been there in over a decade at least.

Bushes and weeds grew out of cracks in the streets, some of the houses were nearly buried in vines, and what storefronts hadn't been raided were still cracked and broken by time and nature. There were even small streams, the product of mountain runoff, winding through the large town; by the size of it, and the presence of a few strip malls, the population must have been over 50,000, before it was abandoned to the elements.

In other words, it was almost perfect. The only thing missing was a natural spring and a coal deposit.

Not that Guts or I were discussing our surroundings.

**_/Turning into a dragon, okay, yeah, I can understand that, obviously, but you're saying people fight city-destroying monsters in skin-tight costumes that aren't even _knife proof, _or _armored_?!/_**

I glanced into an old pawn shop; that glass counter looked like it might help with my obsidian production, _'With reality-breaking powers, yes.'_

**_/Idiots. Your whole world is filled with idiots. At least _you're_ somewhat sane,/_** growled my constant companion, the Armor shivering in disgust. I quirked my lip at his backhanded compliment and decided to come back to the pawn shop later. There were more buildings to examine, **_/Fucking _seriously_. So unless they're a Tinker, they don't use armor or weapons?!/_**

_'We've tried most everything against the Endbringers, Guts,'_ I pointed out, spotting a family of deer in the distance; at least I wouldn't go hungry. I noticed another strip mall, over near the foot of one of the two mountains that bracketed the town; it looked like another highway went north from there, _'Even the Tinkers haven't figured it out yet.'_

**_/Forge Dragon Slayer,/_** he insisted for the umpteenth time, making me roll my eyes at his impatience, **_/Seriously. Those fuckers wouldn't last ten seconds against my baby./_**

_'First of all,' _I plucked a manhole out of the street – and that was a lot of spiders. I threw the disc of iron at a building to dislodge them, while avoiding the ones that came pouring out of the sewer access, _'It's not _your _baby, it's Godo's. Second of all, I need at _least_ two months' worth prep time before I can start forging it, which will take, at most, a week.'_

My partner in the insanity that was being a Tinker grumbled, which made me smile a little. Just because I couldn't forge Dragon Slayer didn't mean I couldn't make a few special toys for Guts to play with.

There were several issues with forging it, Dragon Slayer, too. No apostles meant it couldn't bathe in their blood, which meant I'd have to improvise for the incorporeal-striking ability of the dread blade. Which, of course, lead to the materials I'd need to do just that.

At minimum, I'd need to forge Dragon Slayer with a core of vibranium – the base looked like a two-pronged fork – encased within a mythril-ebony alloy, and finally dipped into molten darksteel before tempering. It would weigh 735 pounds when finished, about 50% more than the original Dragon Slayer…

But, as it would be infused with darksteel, cooled with water from a natural spring, and tempered by vibranium mallets – wielded by yours truly – I was _almost_ certain the new iteration of Dragon Slayer would be able to tank a hit from _Alexandria_, possibly even harm her.

A part of me wanted to be terrified by the power I could wield, but, honestly, after the _locker_, and the "heroes" response, I could give a shit about those fucking hypocrites. Anyway.

I'd need to run some tests, but I was fairly certain darksteel – the hardest non-divine metal to synthesize – was utterly inviolate; my power told me that its half-life was something to the order of one _trillion_ years.

The downside? I needed a smelter made of adamantium to make it, and the temperature gap between darksteel's melting and boiling points was only twenty degrees on the Kelvin scale; too hot, and I'd waste it all. Too cold, and I'd be stuck with a ton of darksteel which not only couldn't melt again, but would need a _lot_ of elbow grease to hammer into shape.

I did wish I had help, though, someone my age to confide in, so I wouldn't be in the lonely situation I'd placed myself in; a wistful sigh left my lips, wishing the town wasn't so damn abandoned and quiet, that someone would talk to me-

**_/What am I, chopped liver?/_**

Chuckling and shaking my head – and ignoring a gutted car – I sighed again, _'No, you're an older man trapped in my armor, and I'm a teenaged girl.'_

**_/So the fuck what?/_** growled my partner, shaking himself over my body, **_/You're doing fine on your own. Better than I did, at any rate. Once people see what you're _really_ made of, you'll have so many friends and allies you won't know what to fucking do with them. So savor these moments of peace, because once you go back, it'll be over./_**

_'Speaking from agonizing experience there, huh?'_ I thought with a quirked lip, my wistfulness forgotten.

**_/You know it. Keep your eyes peeled, though. Something's off about this place./_**

_'It's an abandoned town,'_ I kicked a mossy rock for emphasis, then spotted a strip mall; figuring it'd be a good place to Tinker for a little while, I began making my way toward it, continuing in my head, _'Other than a source of material, it's just the silence. Don't let it get to you.'_

After receiving a grumpy grunt in reply – which made me giggle a little at Guts' faux-standoffishness – I went back to thinking about smelters and anvils, but quickly became frustrated again.

It wasn't like I could make any of it; first, I'd need the basic smelters and forges, so I could make the _better_ smelters and forges, and then – that was a _hardware store_. A warehouse-sized hardware store!

"YES!" I cried in happiness, taking a firmer grip on my bags and the _Claw_ before darting toward the building; I-beams, rebar, _stone!_ I was in the money!

**_/Wait, hold on Taylor,/_** Guts growled before we entered, annoying me; I could see slabs of basalt and slate! I could make Xihuacoatl! I just needed to make some mesh out of paragon's luster, whip up some obsidian, add a little modified pyrite – auramite – here and there, **_/Where'd those gouges come from?/_**

_'Huh?'_ I shook my head to dislodge the Tinker-thoughts and looked around; sure enough, there were… footprints, like some kind of huge, clawed animal stomped through the area long ago. They were mostly filled in by moss, but…

I looked around some more. I could see more gouges in the walls of the hardware store… and one of the shelving units looked like it'd been cut in half, from the front of the store to the back.

Frowning, I looked behind me, at the town; more gouges, more signs of violence. Most of it was worn and weathered, by rain and nature and time, but it was there.

Clicking my tongue, I shrugged and said aloud, "This town probably got ran over by the S9, after they hit the Bay," the Armor tensed, but I patted it with a small smirk, "It's fine, Guts. That was more than a decade ago. If they were nearby, they would've jumped us by now."

And gotten one rude awakening. Sure, they'd probably kill me – or worse – but I'd take as many of them down with me as I could. With the Ebony Mail enhancement, I might even be able to drop the Siberian, or nullify Bonesaw's contagions.

Maybe.

**_/Hmph,/_** he grunted while I jogged into the warehouse, grinning like a loon at the sight of all the _metal _and _stone_ no one had claimed, **_/Still wish we had something better than the Claw and that bat./_**

_'We're about to,'_ I mentally replied, shrugging off my pack on a counter and tying my hair back with an elastic band in preparation for a day-long bout of Tinkering. Then, while selecting and shaping granite stones into an appropriate forge base, I brought up the mental diagram for Xihuacoatl.

It looked like a mass of thin black – obsidian – feathers, with the tip looking like some kind of cross between a bird and a snake, and a handle that could be held with one or two hands; the recipe called for a fire pit that was more lava than hot coal, and certain vocal vibrations assisting the tempering process for the paragon's luster mesh, so the whip-blade would better absorb, intensify, and direct the ambient heat of the world around me.

There was something else, too, about the weapon requiring a strong will and focus to wield, but the fact that the thing could _set the air on fire_ and melt pretty much anything – that was below adamantium in strength – plus my lack of a proper smelter and anvils, made it the perfect area-of-effect weapon for me to wield.

Until I could make the _really_ nasty things, anyway. Like Senbonzakura. I needed _a lot_ of cherry sap and mythril for that, on top of two weeks of careful prep, and that was _with_ the best forge, tools and anvils I could have at my disposal.

_'You're not afraid of fire, are you?'_ I thought impishly to Guts as I started filling the forge pit with basalt; he scoffed in reply, making me grin, _'Then you are gonna _love_ what I'm about to make us.'_

**_/Still think you should make Dragon Slayer. Or at least the base,/_** objected Guts, making a _very_ good point; there was plenty of decent steel around, and the forge I'd be using would be _near_ the appropriate heat to get started on a classic version of the ridiculous "blade"…

I shook my head and got my pots ready, saying aloud, "I'll do that tomorrow. This project's gonna take me all day, and even a basic replica of your favorite weapon will take time to temper to the standards you prefer."

**_/Hmph, fine. You're the smith,/_** was Guts' begrudging reply, **_/I'll keep an eye out while you work. And try to hurry. This place gives me the creeps./_**

Nodding in agreement while carefully grinding up some obsidian base out of shale, glass and basalt, I thought back, _'After I finish a few projects, we'll find somewhere else.'_ No sense making my permanent home in what was basically a graveyard.

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**[IRON]**

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"What the hell."

In the past few days, Cherie Vasil had changed cars twice and robbed two big-box stores. Currently, she was seated in a Hummer H1 that was fully stocked with food, toiletries, clothes, and multiple appliances and knick-knacks that might interest the Tinker she'd been hunting down.

Also for herself. Sure, she couldn't have most of the comforts of home, but Cherie could indulge in a few luxuries. Like the black clove between her fingers, which was slowly burning its way down to the filter…

As the Master in question stared with uncomprehending shock into the distance.

The sounds of Vivaldi coming out of the heavy-duty jeep's speakers was barely registered, to her mind.

"What in all the soggy dicks?" she breathed in almost _reverent _awe, hearing the music of what was clearly a Parahuman… at least, Cherish _thought_ it was a Parahuman.

She'd felt it first around half an hour ago; it sounded like industrial music, underpinned with grinding tones, clanging, billowing flames, and the hiss of boiling water. It was also in the middle of freaking nowhere, and was both really angry and wary.

She hadn't thought much of sending a small burst of wistfulness to what was _clearly_ Ash Crow, just to soften the girl up, but…

Then she heard the _other_ music, which was… harder to describe.

Mostly because it sounded like heavy metal, but unlike anything she'd ever heard. It was of such complexity, speed, grittiness and intensity that Dethklok, Dragonforce, Mastodon and Gwar would fall to their knees in fucking _worship_ of its utter brutality and violent strains. It was 'fuck everything, including _you'_ as a musical disaster-piece of epic proportions.

It was the Sistine Chapel of **rage**, and it scared Cherie.

Gulping and shakily taking a quick drag, she tried to remember if she'd ever felt so much _anger_ in a single person. It was an easy answer: she hadn't. No one could be _that_ angry and not have an instant heart-attack from the stress, but there it was, in all its guitar-burning, bass-breaking, computer-crashing, drum set-destroying glory.

And it was all underscored by what sounded like an orchestral choir, singing of _blood_ and _death_. In Old Latin.

Just the implications of that made Cherish _shudder_, wondering what the _hell_ Ash Crow had done… or who'd found her first.

What was _really_ worrying her, though, was the location of that… singularity of maddening rage.

It was _right on top _of Ash Crow. More than that, as soon as Cherish tried to make the Tinker wistful for companionship, the **rage** bled over into the industrial music and _obliterated_ her attempts with ruthless contempt.

_'That makes no sense,'_ frowned the black haired young woman, staring intently at the trees; the Tinker's music was louder at the moment, the **rage** more of a background tune – if such a thing could ever be called _background_ – which _maybe_ meant that Ash Crow was in the process of Tinkering something.

Slumping back in the seat, Cherish frowned and started speaking her thoughts aloud, "If it's Tinker-tech, it shouldn't show up on my power, because I sense _people_, not technology. But if it's a person, then _they're _a Master too…" she shook her head and looked at her laptop, open to a certain news report, "But that doesn't make sense either, unless they were hiding in the wings somehow."

The news report detailed what was known of Ash Crow's abilities, particularly the Shaker effect that turned people into mindless, wrathful berserkers. It was… kind of awesome, in a morbid way; sure, a lot of people ended up getting killed, but meh, they were just bratty, stupid highschoolers. And the Shaker ability ensured Ash Crow wouldn't be pursued, as all the emergency personnel would be tied up at the quarantine, dealing with the fallout.

Hell, if Cherish had been there, she'd have done the same thing. But… that still raised the question: was it Ash Crow, or someone else?

If it was the first, then Ash Crow must've created a piece of Tinker-tech that not only showed up as a separate person, but also worked automatically.

If it was the latter, then that meant Ash Crow was Mastered by someone already, and… well, Cherish frowned, turning to look at all the guns she'd taken from those rednecks, back near Lake Placid… she could deal with the threat, and then Ash Crow would be in her debt.

But, again, if it was the former… that changed things.

Cherish grinned, putting the Hummer into gear and driving slowly in a roundabout way, heading slowly toward the town which, according to her research, had been abandoned since the Nine wiped out the whole population back in the early 2000's.

That changed _a lot_ of things, because if what she was feeling was Tinker-tech, that meant Ash Crow _couldn't_ be Mastered, and if she couldn't be Mastered…

Switching the music on her MP3 player to Pantera's Cowboys From Hell, Cherish hummed happily along and drove, formulating a new plan for approaching Ash Crow; she'd let the girl Tinker, then, at sundown, Cherish would make her offer.

A thought occurred to her, then, making Cherie's grin wider.

_'Looks like I might beat you to killing our father, Jean-Paul.'_

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**a/n:**

**And just like that, we've set up the incipient meeting between Cherish and Ash Crow, which will happen next chapter.**

**How will the petite master handle the mountain of RAGE that is Tayguts? How will Taylor reply to Cherie's offer of mutual assistance?**

**Why am I asking _you_ all these questions? Thanks for reading, peoples!**


	10. Smelt 3

**And here… we… go…**

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**[IRON]**

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**Smelt 2.3**

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Tilting the canteen back, I gulped down half of the water in there. Smacking my lips, "Ahhh!" I smiled and poured the rest over my head, washing ashes and soot out of my curly mane. Away from the forge-pit, of course; there were still a few projects to get started on and… no, I was done. For the day, anyway; the base for Dragon Slayer and a copy of Guts' first bastard sword would have to wait until after breakfast tomorrow. Speaking of which, I could smell food.

I shook the water out of my hair and looked at a kitchen island on wheels; there was a bowl of rice and a venison steak on a plate, with a bottle of barbecue sauce and a salad in a smaller bowl next to it.

Blinking, I remembered a couple times, during Tinkering, where Guts insisted I eat… and smiled; he'd gotten dinner ready for me, about an hour and a half ago, _'Thanks, Guts.'_

**_/No problem,/_** grunted the spirit of the Armor, sounding both pleased with himself and like he'd been resting, **_/You were really into it that time. I had to pinch your arms and yell at you to get your attention. Little smith,/_ **he finished with a small chuckle, while I blushed and looked over the items I Tinkered up.

A brace of throwing knives on a leather belt, a pair of curved daggers in wooden sheathes, and a short-sword with inscriptions on the fuller; all of them were mythril, as I'd found some chrome and silver accents in the partially-collapsed warehouse's storage section.

But the _real_ prize, which made me smile in satisfied victory, was laid on the rim of the forge-pit.

The feathers and snake-bird head were all obsidian, and beautifully carved; the eyes glowed with fire behind the ruby layers over them, and each feather on the slender, two-meter-long whip-blade looked like they were covered in scales, if I tilted my head one way and squinted. The handle was crisscrossed white leather, and the pommel was fashioned into a 12-rayed golden sun. A shimmer of heat rose constantly from the weapon, Xihuacoatl, the blade that scoured the Southern Stars from the sky in Aztec myth, the physical manifestation of one of that culture's fire gods.

And I reproduced it in a fire pit, in an abandoned town in Vermont. Took me about six hours, leaving me with a bone-deep tingling soreness across my whole body. Not bad for a day's work.

Sighing in satisfaction, I gave my tools a fond pat and picked up my dinner – after refilling my canteen from the plastic jug I'd been carrying around – and headed for the store's entrance, feeling… accomplished. Giddy, even.

**_/You're not gonna test it out?/_** my small smile grew at Guts' _almost_ whine of disappointment. Not that I could blame him; Xihuacoatl was _the_ most kickass weapon I could forge on a budget. And Guts had a point. I needed to make sure it worked, but…

Planting my butt on a fallen I-beam, giving me a great view of the east mountain and fiery sunset, I tucked into my salad – mmmm, croutons, _so good_ – and thought at my partner, _'Maybe tomorrow, Guts. That weapon needs a lot of focus to use. Don't want to accidentally set us on fire or anything.'_

**_/Yeah, alright, point. That thing was spitting sparks and growled a few times, while you were forging it,/_** replied Guts a little begrudgingly; the armor shifted near my left breast when he finished. Looking down, I spotted two red, pulsing slashes that seemed to be inside the metal, representations of Guts' eyes, **_/This place would be nice, if it wasn't a fucking graveyard./_**

"Oh, hush you," I smiled, enjoying the view and the not-too-hot, not-too-cold breeze blowing through the building; yummy venison with A1 steak sauce, _come to Taylor_, "Mmmm. What'd you season this with?" It was better than how _I _cooked it, and I'd been making my own meals for more than a year!

**_/Ah, some salt, a little of a ginger plant I found a couple days ago, and a little cinnamon,/_** was Guts' calm reply, though he added with suspicion, **_/I'm surprised those racists had so much of that, the cinnamon./_**

_'Why?' _I thought, coating some of the steak in saucy rice and eating it. Yum.

**_/It was really hard to get, back in Midland…/_** he trailed off, a feeling of… not yearning, but discontent, worry, coming from my Armor.

Chewing my most recent mouthful, I put my fork down and rapped my knuckles against my breastplate, avoiding Guts' eyes, _'We'll figure it out, Guts.'_

**_/Not your problem, little smith,/_** was his replying growl, the Armor rattling in restrained anger.

_'Nope, it's not, but you saved my life,' _I thought back while taking a long drink of water, trying to put as much gratefulness into my words as possible, _'Neither of us may know how you got in the Berserker Armor, but we'll find out together. I owe you big time, for the Locker… and getting me out of town.'_ No matter how much I missed Dad… but he was tough, and Tempest wouldn't let anything happen to my Dad. She promised, last summer, the last time we spoke…

_"Be tough, Taylor. Merrow wouldn't want you mopin', or your Ma. You got Danny's fire and your Ma's brains. Use em."_

_"…If… if something happens to me… Dad-"_

_"I'll be right next to Danny, as he rips the people who hurt you to fuckin' pieces. Hell, everyone down here will. Ain't no high school drama gonna get in our way."_

_"Just… don't tell him. Let me do it."_

_"…alright. Just don't take too long."_

Fat lot of good _that_ advice did, before I got my powers. But that was in the past; I'd done what I did, and could only keep moving forward.

**_/I think I remember a… girl with weird hat, and some guy that was always squinting,/_** Guts broke me out of my reminiscing with that grumpy statement; I was about done with my dinner. No napkins… well, beggars can't be choosers, and my tongue still works.

_'Doesn't ring any bells, but hey, it's a big world. Bound to be someone out there who'll know something about our situation.'_

**_/And if it's just me?/_**

I chuckled out loud and stood, stretching my arms over my head, "Not likely; whatever happened wasn't simple, that's for sure. If that is the case, though, we'll go kidnap a Thinker or something and make them tell us what the fuck is going on. _After_ Dragon Slayer's forged, of course."

**_/Now you're talkin', girly,/_** I really, _really_ wished I didn't have some of Casca's memories; just _imagining_ Guts' hungry grin is… distracting, **_/Uh… do you hear something growling?/_**

And just like that, I'm on guard, holding my dishes in one hand and looking at the warehouse exit in tense alertness. I could hear a rumbling of an engine, the crunch of tires on debris and asphalt, getting closer.

_'Fuck, someone found us!'_ I turned and darted back into the store, arrowing toward my blades and tools; shouldn't've come to a town. Should've just left as soon as I figured out it was a Slaughterhouse 9 battleground; the PRT was probably watching the place like the stupid hawks they were, wasting time on abandoned buildings and towns when there were fucking Nazis on their doorstep.

The Berserker Armor rattled against my skin, Guts snarling between my ears, **_/If they try to fight us-/_**

_'No killing this time!'_ I shouted into my thoughts while putting on the knife belt and picking up the _Eagle's Claw_; I spared a glance to Xihuacoatl while Guts grumbled an agreement, but shook my head. Too unpredictable and noticeable for what was likely a group of PRT agents, maybe one or two capes-

"Halooo, Ash Crow! Can we talk? I'm not with the PRT!" called a girl's voice from the entrance of the warehouse. Who?

**_/OH COME ON!/_**

What? _'Guts? Do you know who she's-'_

**_/Burn down ONE FORT with a crow's nest in it, and people in OTHER WORLDS get on my case!/_**

…I shook my head. Probably Thinker bullshit. At least they didn't call me _Rabid_.

The armor's h**elm slid up and over my head with a metallic snarl. Whoever this person was, they wanted to talk, and knew I was in the warehouse. They claimed they weren't PRT, and their easygoing tone… it just made Guts and I _more_ suspicious.**

**Shouldering the _Claw_, I picked up _Line Drive_ and hung it from a spare strap on my belt. There was only one way to find out their intentions, why they were approaching me: confront them.**

**_/What if they're a villain, one of the Nine or some shit?/_**

**_'First, we find out if that's the case. If it is, _****then_ you can kill them,'_ I mentally replied with heat before darting forward two steps, then leaping into the air and kicking off a column, heading for the entrance again.**

**.**

**[IRON]**

**.**

"Haloo, Ash Crow!" called Cherie with a smile in her voice, trying not to keel over from the building **hate** and **rage** that meshed with suspicion in the building she pulled up to, a decaying ruin of a hardware store if the remaining banners were any indication, "Can we talk? I'm not with the PRT!"

There. That should set her mind at ease-

**_RAGE_**

Cherish choked back a scream and took a step away from the entrance, an animal part of her brain telling her to _run_. Too bad for that little part of herself, Cherish was the master of her own mind. A little anger wasn't going to… okay, it wasn't a little anger.

**_RAGE_**

It took the music she'd heard earlier, turned up the volume to 66, combined Metallica's speakers with a dubstep artist's, and _blasted it into her brain_. There was no way to ignore it anymore, the pure _fury_ pouring off of Ash Crow in almost visible waves; and it _was_ Ash Crow, or whatever she did to make herself immune to Master effects. Cherish noticed it when the Tinker moved _very_ quickly to the back of the store: their music and the disasterpiece of fury moved _as one_.

Ash Crow was using pure, heart-stopping rage as a deterrent against Master abilities. If it wasn't so existentially frightening, being on the receiving end of said rage, Cherie would be really impressed. She didn't think Tinker-tech worked like that… though, coming from a family of Masters _might_ have skewed her perceptions a bit, if she was being honest.

**_RAGE_**

A shadow moved in the dark of the warehouse; a mass of swirling black shadows lunged toward her, four pulsing, glowing red eyes gleaming within.

Cherish stayed still, kept her hands visible, did _not_ think about the gun in her waistband; any wrong move might set Ash Crow off, and then Cherish would be smeared across the parking lot.

_Thump. **RAGE**curiosity**suspicionRAGE**_

The shadows swirled around the tower of black-silver-red armor as they rose to their feet, the darkness shrouding them looking like a cape made of pure darkness. Cherish spotted the meat-cleaver from Winslow propped on Ash Crow's shoulder – and now that she was up close, the daughter of Heartbreaker had to gape; not only was it _much_ bigger in person, it looked like it was going to cut her just from the young Master looking at it – a brace of silver throwing knives crossed their breastplate, and a… an aluminum baseball bat (?) hung from their left hip.

Oh, and the armor Ash Crow was wearing looked… different; in all the videos, it was red and black. Now, there were swirls and accents of silver scrollwork bracketing the red, at the edges of the black plates. Cherish had to admit, it made Ash Crow look less like a thin, horrific monster and more… feminine, dare she say _sexy?_

**_RAGEimpatienceannoyanceRAGE_**

Right! There was a reason Cherish was there, and it wasn't to ogle the homicidal jailbait!

Putting on a smile, Cherie gulped and said, "So… heh-heh, hi there, Ash Crow."

The red "eyes" on the armor seemed to narrow, accompanied by another wave of **fury**.

Pulling at the collar of her sweater, eyes watering from the proximity to the noise _throbbing_ off the armored being, Cherie squeaked, "Could… um, could you turn down the anger a little?" the Tinker cocked their head to one side, a confused arpeggio – with a bone-rattling Viking war-drum solo – rippling off them, "Seriously not here to fight or anything, but I _am_ an empath, and your emotions are loud."

A whirl of emotions nearly made Cherie pass out, the sensation feeling like she was a boat in the middle of an ocean during a storm. Then the pressure _almost_ vanished; the heavy metal was in the background, behind suspicious concern and the clanging music of the Tinker. Blinking away her strained tears, the Master rubbed her temples and looked at the villain.

The red slashes on the jackal-like helm were further back, and the maw was open slightly, revealing part of the Tinker's face. She was wearing glasses, had a wide mouth with thin lips, and green eyes; oh, and she was glaring at Cherish in heavy suspicion, fingers drumming on the handle of that cleaver in impatience.

"Whoof! Thanks!" Cherie fanned herself, trying to keep herself on an even keel; fuck, but the girl must have a heart of steel, to put up with that much rage all the time, "Seriously, I could feel you from miles away-"

"**Who are you, and what the _fuck_ do you want?**" while Ash Crow's voice was rather feminine – expected, but good to get the confirmation – it was combined with screeching metal and tinged with malice. Nevertheless, Cherish had spent the past hours getting herself ready for the encounter, and bore the question with a kind smile.

"Cherish, a city-ranged empath, at your service," giving a small curtsy – which elicited another wave of confusion and, for some reason, annoyance – she cleared her throat and looked the Tinker up and down, "And _you_, are Ash Crow, a Tinker who's wanted for multiple offences. The reason _I'm_ here, why I've sought you out, is," Cherish clasped her hands in front of her thighs, giving her best smile, "I think we can help each other out."

Ash Crow's eyes narrowed, thin lips pursing tightly; for some reason Cherish couldn't figure out, there was a storm of emotions in the girl's mind. Disregarding it – because it wasn't like Cherie could do anything about Ash Crow, emotions or otherwise – she just kept smiling hopefully.

"**Go to the PRT,**" growled the Tinker, turning around and walking away, "**Tell them whatever. I'll be leaving here soon anyway.**"

_'Shit, no!'_ "Yeah, see, there's a few reasons why I can't do that!" Cherie took three steps forward-

**_FURY_**

And Ash Crow whirled around, pointing that cleaver right at Cherie. Who gulped and raised her hands.

"**I don't give a shit about your reasons,**" the dark cape replied, one of her eyes obscured by two of those red slashes, "**I'm doing just fine on my**-"

Cherish took a gamble, blurting, "Yeah, you've avoided them _so far_, but they're still _looking for you!_" before Ash Crow could retort, Cherish turned and pointed to the south, glaring right back at the – _extremely _– terrifying cape, "There's a company of PRT and military types, four miles that way. They _would_ be coming to check this area – hell they _want to_ – if not for _me_. _That's_ the reason _I _can't go to them…" her hand dropped, and Cherish sighed, reminding herself of that book's words:

_The most lasting relationships are built on trust and honesty._ Not her personal philosophy, granted, but being dishonest _now_ might get her cut to pieces _later_.

And Cherish didn't want to die, now or later. She might miss out on something amazing and beautiful… like watching her asshole father squeal like a pig as he bled out from the throat.

"…because I'm not just an empath. I'm a Master."

**_HATEFURYRAGE_**

Cherish didn't scream (she wanted to, but it wouldn't help).

She didn't move (she wanted to run, but that wouldn't help either).

She didn't flinch (she wanted to, but that'd been trained out of her early).

Cherie Vasil stood there and looked right into Ash Crow's face, ignoring the curve of the razor sharp blade at her neck, and talked as fast as she could while _utterly terrified_, "I can hear emotions as music, can conduct them if I want to; I've _been _conducting the PRT's emotions to see this area as uninteresting and bland, but that won't last much longer. I think they've been given orders to come this way; eventually, they will, whether I want them to or not. At which point, you'll be found, and the Triumvirate will come down on both of us."

The blade might have moved slightly away from Cherie's throat, "**Why are you telling me this?**"

Cherie's grin felt weak, "Because _you're_ my best chance at living free. Not a lot of people _want_ to mess with you, not after you wrecked those Nazi bastards; by the way, _nice_. Anyway, I can make sure you know about the ones that _do_ want to mess with you, before they sneak up on you… and you can make sure nobody kills me or throws me down a hole, for being who I am."

Not a single bird tweeted. Ash Crow didn't move, but Cherie felt that weird swirl of emotions again, _'What **is** that?!'_

The blade withdrew, a blend of suspicion, annoyance, and grumpiness ringing in Cherie's dizzy head. Ash Crow stared at her for a solid thirty seconds before turning around, the black smoke vanishing into the armor as she walked into the store, heading for a glowing light in the back of the ruin.

"**You have five minutes to explain.**" The _don't try anything funny_ went unsaid, but Cherish heard it anyway.

She let out a shuddering sigh and unconsciously checked her neck for scratches; there weren't any, so Cherish hopped over to her Hummer and grabbed a thermos of tea… and her bag of jewelry, figuring a peace offering would help thaw relations.

Not _once_ did she think the Slaughterhouse Nine were a better choice than the Tinker she followed into the darkening warehouse. While searching for Ash Crow, Cherish looked them up; apparently, the Nine ran tests – usually involving the depopulation of a town or something – as a way of recruiting new members.

She really, _really_ didn't want to know what they'd do to her, if someone came _looking _to join. _'Ash Crow is safer than Jack Slash,'_ she thought with an assured nod, following the girl, scanning the broad-shouldered pauldrons and heavy plate on the six-foot-two-_ish_ cape, _'Another girl, probably misunderstood but not in the mood for anyone's shit, _and_ can't be Mastered. I can make this work. I _will_ make this work.'_

If for no other reason than _not_ becoming a murder-hobo. And the better odds of seeing Heartbreaker take a dirt nap.

Stepping into a clearing in the back of the store, Cherish blinked at the simple campsite… and a big fire pit made of granite stones, its center filled with glowing ashes; duffel bags full of food and metal, weird-colored tools laid on rickety tables, what looked like meat wrapped in paper, and a lot of sharp, gleaming weapons… plus one that gave Cherish a weird vibe. It looked like a black-orange feathered snake on a handle; the cross-guard was a blocky _rock_, one that looked a little like… Aztec? Mayan? It was etched with characters from one of the Central or South American civilizations, but Cherish couldn't tell which.

Not a single computer, laser gun, or half-built piece of machinery in sight. _'Uh…'_

Ash Crow cleared her throat, drawing Cherish's attention. The armored girl was sitting on a piece of fallen shelving, that wickedly sharp cleaver leaning next to her; both her eyes were visible again, staring expectantly at Cherish, the four red slashes on either side of her breastplate.

Getting her thoughts in order, Cherie smiled weakly and shook the cloth bag of jewelry, "Um, I don't know if you work with jewelry or not, but there's a bunch of rings and watches in here. Just… hear me out, please?"

Ash Crow nodded, once. She didn't break her glare.

"Okay," looking around, the black-haired Master decided to lean against a reasonably clean support, "So… I've already told you most of the important stuff, except why people would want me dead," glancing up, Cherish found the Tinker listening attentively, forearms on her knees, eyes narrowed watchfully, "Other than the whole, '_Ooh, Masters are bad!'_ bent people seem to be on… actually, can I ask you something?" Ash Crow responded with another nod to Cherie's exasperated statement, which only set her at ease a little, "How comfortable are you with killing someone?"

"**Given the choice,**" replied the Tinker gruffly, not breaking her gaze, "**so long as they're not trying to kill me, aren't a Nazi or drug pusher, or one of the… recurring problems with our world,**" the dark grin on Ash Crow's face made Cherie's mouth go dry, "**my philosophy is: they don't fuck with me or mine, they don't matter.**"

Cherish nodded, a small smile starting to bloom on her face, "Sooo… hypothetically… if I was one of, say, Heartbreaker's children-"

**_Fury_**

"**Are you here to bring me to him?**" the Tinker's left arm shifted, closer to that cleaver.

Cherish, however, laughed, "Oh, _hell no!_ I'd rather get an enema from Acidbath, or have _Bonesaw_ as my dentist!" chuckling, she opened her thermos and smiled at Ash Crow's suspicious music, meeting her gaze, "No, fuck that bastard in the ear with Behemoth's dick and make it spin. Reason I asked how comfortable you are with killing is…" she trailed off leadingly, sipping at her black tea as _comprehension_ dawned in Ash Crow.

Interestingly, the rage-filled music seemed _eager_ at the prospect.

"**You want me to kill Heartbreaker,**" it wasn't a question, just an incredulous statement of fact, "**Your father, if I'm reading this right.**"

Smacking her lips – it was good tea – Cherish nodded, "Yep! I've got _scores_ of reasons for wanting that asshole's head on a pike. You could probably do it, too, and I'm gonna tell you why," confusion and interest were the replying emotions, so Cherish leaned forward, giving her best mischievous grin, "Now, don't get _too_ pissed about this – you are _really_ scary, and _do_ have a reputation of extreme violence – I _tried_ to alter your emotions earlier. BUT!" she shouted as a white-hot burst of **_RAGE_** rammed into her senses, Ash Crow half-risen from her seat with one hand on her blade, "It. Didn't. Work. You _can't be Mastered_."

Silence fell, spraining its ankle.

"**…how the hell do you _know_ that?**" the Tinker didn't release her grip on that horrible cleaver; Cherish wondered, for all of a second, whether or not Armsmaster shit his pants on seeing that thing coming at him.

"Emotions and willpower make up a big part of Mastering someone," explained Cherish, pointing a finger – and her thermos – at the angry Tinker, "Your emotions are _always_ changing. If it wasn't for Parahumans having different music than normal people, I wouldn't have figured out who you were under all that _anger_. Whatever you've done to yourself, Ash Crow, it's enough that even _if _I tried with all my might, you would be able to break out of my Master effect… which means you can fight off Heartbreaker's effect, too. It relies on the target not knowing what's coming, yes, but _more than that_, the target must have a weak will, or they'll throw it off sooner or later."

A long, tense moment passed, during which Ash Crow slowly relaxed, and the sun continued to steal light from the little camp. Cherish took a long sip of tea to relax her nerves, waiting for the Tinker's reply.

It wasn't long in coming, "So… you'll act as my watchdog, keep morons from finding me, and, in return," Cherish blinked; Ash Crow sounded like a _teenage girl!_ "just so we're perfectly clear… you want me to kill fucking _Heartbreaker._ Your dad."

"Eventually, but yes," clarified Cherie with a nod, eyes wide; one of the scariest capes in America, who even the Triumvirate were hesitant to attack, was a _little girl?!_ "I'm not asking you to do it tomorrow, or even next week, just… someday," putting the youth of Ash Crow aside for the moment, the black-haired young woman sighed wistfully, "I want to see that fucking asshole's head roll. In return," Cherish shrugged, "I tag along with you, make sure no one finds you; who knows, maybe we'll bond and become bosom buddies," she laughed and rolled her eyes, expressing how cheesy she thought her own words were.

"Hmph," grunted the Tinker, _finally_ letting go of her blade; that weird swirl of emotions came back when the girl closed her eyes, posture becoming thoughtful. From what little Cherish could make out, it _felt_ like she was going to say yes…

But that's when things got strange.

Ash Crow gasped, eyes flying open as a hard spike of _fear_ and _surprise_ came off her; at the same time Cherish started feeling presences all around them – all around the _town,_ appearing out of thin air!

She drew her gun and turned toward the exit… and that's when Cherie noticed that the presences felt… _wrong_. There was no complex emotion, no hallmarks of human thought and response, no indication that they were being attacked by soldiers or capes. Instead, it was a miasma of **hunger** and **despair** and **grief** and **_greed_**.

Words came to Cherish's ears as the sky outside turned red and black, shadows lengthening, reminding the woman of a horror movie, about a town of religious extremists being terrorized by a Shaker, she'd seen years ago.

_"…a Sacrifice!"_

_"My body! I need to feel warm!"_

_"So cold! Give us a body!"_

_"Please, it's so cold!"_

There were no begging notes in the words that came out of a rising mist, just laughing _cruelty_ and _malice_.

"What the _fuck_ is this?!" Cherish snapped, bringing her gun to bear-

**_ResignationFURY_**

Ash Crow's mailed hand fell onto the Glock, plucking it from Cherish's hand easily; looking up at the Tinker, Cherie Vasil's heart nearly stopped at the dark _glee_ in the cape's eyes as they picked up the bag of jewelry.

"**That's _really _not gonna help you, little Master,**" the rage within the younger girl was becoming cloying; then Cherish was holding the silver baseball bat, "**Use that against anything that comes at you; I'm gonna Tinker up something that _should_ keep these fuckers from getting their hooks in you. After that, I'll distract them; you do your best to get all my stuff into your truck and hightail it north, and I _do mean all of it_. If you manage to survive**" Ash Crow strode over to the forge, where that snake-sword lay, and poured out the jewelry with one hand, picking up a small orange-purple hammer with the other, "**I'll think about your offer.**"

"But what's coming?!" Cherish was starting to get _very _scared; there were _thousands-_ tens of thousands of _things_, all of them coming toward _them, _and all she had was a _baseball bat!_

"**I'll explain later… if you live.**"

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**…uh oh.**

**Next time: Things… escalate.**


	11. Smelt 4

**Not much of a long chapter, but it's good as it sits.**

**Song of the chapter is BFG Division (Remix), from the DOOM 2016 OST.**

**For maximum effect, play Welcome to Hell first, then the above song right after Cherish goes postal on a zombie.**

**Have fun~!**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Smelt 2.4**

**.**

**.**

**.**

_'The Unsettled Dead. Because of _course_ the most annoying part of your old life followed you into the Armor!'_ I thought, forcing myself – and my thoughts – to stay calm, as I needed to forge a golden bracelet of protection in the next ten seconds. I didn't succeed at the staying calm part; there was the issue of being _really fucking angry_, partly because I was working under pressure, partly because of Guts' Brand of Sacrifice still being _fucking_ active-

**_/Trust me, I checked for the thing! It's probably your power or whatever making it part of the armor but _not,_ I dunno! Your smithing is weird sometimes!/_ **Guts shouted into my head while I whacked three gold bracelets together, then added a few more whacks to remove the impurities; good thing about gold, it was _really_ easy to manipulate. Poor for most weapons, but great for amulets of protection… _powers are bullshit, especially mine. **/Good news is we've got the weapons to deal with these scavenging fuckers!/**_

Then Cherish screamed in a panic and whacked another undead, reducing it to a pile of salt. It didn't calm the slowly-becoming-more-distraught Canadian girl, but it _did_ remind me of the third reason I was so pissed.

I was _responsible for her safety_. Which was just _peachy;_ I could barely take care of myself, let alone another person! Did she even know how to hunt? Would I have to teach her how to clean a deer, or worse, how to use a bow?

…actually, that gave me a perfect excuse to craft Artemis' Bow – _now is **not** the time, power!_

Luckily, I managed to hammer up a basic wristguard/soul-purifier in record time: it was a leather-backed arm-guard that looked like something an archer might wear, except with gold chains and jewelry forming a knotted rope around the outside. A single cord would be worn around the middle finger, and a simple built-in belt would tighten it.

_Un_luckily, that was also the exact minute life decided to send Cherish and I a curveball, in the form of a zombie _Mover_ darting in and grabbing her by the throat, the thing screeching, "_A MORTAL!_" in a very disturbing voice. Cherish, the inexperienced idiot, dropped her bat and let out a strangled scream while trying to physically claw the undead's hands off. The one-armed rotting corpse just laughed menacingly.

I threw my newest invention at it without the slightest worry in my heart, thinking to Guts, _'I gave her a weapon. _Why_ didn't she use the weapon?'_

**_/She's green. Once this is over, give me a week working on her; I'll bring her up to scratch./_** I believed him; Guts turned a mob of farm-boys and road pavers into a professional frontline combat unit, in his days with the Band of the Hawk. Cherish would be mustard like a Dockworker in no time, assuming she survived the night.

Anyway, the zombie burst into flames and then dust pretty quickly, leaving behind the slightest feeling of relief; in the shadows, other creatures halted in surprise before continuing their slow yet inexorable shamble toward us. They also turned up the disturbing chuckling, but I ignored them in favor of a certain Canadian Master.

Looking at Cherish, she still looked pretty terrified, so I grabbed her by the sweater and hauled her up to scream in her face, "Focus!"

"But-" Guts and I both agreed that objections, at our current juncture, were counter-productive to our coalescing plan of avoiding a sleepless night of fighting vicious undead, so I applied Psychology 101 and flicked Cherie Vasil's left ear, mostly because slapping her might make her fragile and admittedly valuable head explode, "Ow! Hey-"

"Shut up," I said, kicking an undead away and trying to keep my fury to a simmer, rather than hydrogen fusion temperature; with another deft movement of a foot, I caught Cherie's bat from where I kicked it into the air and shoved it into her hands with a growl, "Don't drop that again." Then I got started on attaching the arm-guard, trying to move quickly because _something _was roaring outside and I didn't like the sound of it.

"What the _fuck_ is going on? Is this another cape?!" asked Cherish, sounding slightly hysteric. Figuring that spilling the beans might make her go off into a corner and suck her thumb like the complete wuss she was, I decided not to answer that question directly.

"Basically a localized Shaker effect that's dead-set on killing us – on your right!" good news was that she was quick to follow orders, "Good job, just keep doing that and you'll be fine. Now, here's the plan:

"Your ride's the quickest way out of here; once we leave the city limits, all this stuff should dissipate, so I'll distract the main horde while you get my tools and supplies out of here. Once we're far away from anywhere civilized _and_ safe, I'll explain all this unfortunate madness. Also," I glared into her eyes and tapped part of the gold filigree on her arm and killed a zombie with a thrown dagger while telling her seriously, "do _not_ take this off, or they'll possess you and then use your powers to try and kill _me_," I got in her face and growled, "and that would make me _very _upset, Cherish."

She nodded fast, eyes wide and terrified "Gotcha! Don't take off the armor, get tools to car, and fuck off from this nightmare!" I nodded back, happy she understood-

"_Can I play with you?_" we both turned to see the _cutest widdle girl I ever done saw-_

Cherish screamed like a banshee and went absolutely _postal _on the zombie-Master, jumping onto it and hammering away with _Line Drive_ until she exploded a crater in the floor and stunned herself.

**_/Damn, guess she's not useless after all./_** Guts admitted with a chuckle. I rolled my eyes in disagreement and lightly tapped my knuckles on Cherie's head, "Hey! That's not a toy, it's a powerful Tinker-tech weapon of destruction! Treat it as such." After getting a shaky and still-kind-of distraught nod, I took a deep breath of nervousness…

And turned to Xiuhcoatl, still lying faux-innocently on my forge, giving off heat waves; it almost looked _eager_, if an inanimate object could do such. I instinctively knew the basics of how to use it: it was more wrist-motions and flicks than sweeping gestures and stances, as the Aztec "blade" of myth was more an area-effect and ranged weapon than anything resembling an ordinary sword. More whip than blade, it was supposed to be treated as both a whip _and_ a sword, mostly because most whips couldn't cut through titanium like an industrial laser through tracing paper.

It was also rumored to be the worldly manifestation of a fire god; knowing how my power seemed to take things literally – the _Claw_ sounding like an eagle when swung or thrown, the _Armor_ being possessed by a berserker – there would probably be a trial to complete, before Xiuhcoatl would let me wield it properly.

_'So… ready for a mental battle of wills, Guts?'_ I thought with a nervous gulp.

**_/I gotcha, Taylor./_** the Armor rippled around m**e, my vision turning a pleasing red once more, _/On your lead./_**

**_'Just try not to get us killed, big guy,'_ was my mental reply. Glancing one more time at the encroaching hordes – and Cherish, who'd scurried away from them to gather up my hammers – I grabbed the hilts of the Star-Scourer-**

**[ ? ]**

**And damn-near _broke my teeth_ forcing myself not to scream.**

**Liquid fire pulsed through my blood to the sound of a primordial war-drum. My lungs were magma, my breath a volcanic vent. The swirling forges of stars rang distant in my ears yet louder than anything I'd ever experienced, a symphony of creation and destruction that would make the Classical greats break their pipe-organs with sledgehammers and _burn _every page-**

**_/DIAL IT BACK OR YOU'LL MELT THE FLOOR! OR _ME!_/_ a familiar voice called out to me through the din.**

**_'Guts?'_**

**_/FOCUS, PRINCESS!/_ how many _fucking times…_**

**_'I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCKING CALL ME THAT!'_**

**Using my anger to anchor myself, I forced the sounds and flames to the side with what felt like a physical effort. After a brief strain against the _brightness_ of everything around me, I managed to focus on the flame in my hand, the _power_ radiating from it echoing through every _atom _of my being; it snapped and hissed, the serpent of fire flailing about and screeching at everything around it – including Cherish, who was cowering behind my kitchenette, her face a rictus of terror.**

**"Obey." I said evenly to the serpent, a haze of heat and sparks leaving my mouth. It snapped its jaws at my face in challenge. I bared my teeth and snarled right back at it, ignoring how my blood _still_ felt like it was on fire; with a yell of frustration at the rebellious Star-Scourer, I took hold of that feeling and whipped Xiuhcoatl at the masses of Unsettled Dead trying to drink my life.**

**An arc of magmatic flame shot through the abandoned store, turning over a hundred zombies into screaming torches in under a second; it also melted most of the shelves, but there were enough clear paths left for Cherish to use. In a few places where the zombies died, fire hung in the air momentarily before turning to winged serpents. Which let out hissing sounds, like two hot coals being rubbed together, but that wasn't why I gaped at the small gliding creatures of flame now darting over the huge bonfire I made.**

**I could feel them, through Xiuhcoatl, as extensions of its fire; I also felt that I could _direct them_, giving me a few fringe forces to keep the annoyances away, while Guts and I dealt with the big threats personally.**

**[ ]**

**My gaping at the power at my disposal turned to a savage grin, _'Oh yeah. I do good work.'_ **

**_/Oh hell YES you do! Remember, we've got a plan, so stick to it./_**

**Remembering that there was an army of undead that needed _burning_ and a Cherish that needed evacuating, I grit my teeth and nodded, feeling really eager to start _burning_** **something, _'Right. Let's get to it then.'_**

**With a gesture of my new weapon's pommel, some of the fire-snake-birds darted out of the store to attack the other masses, some of which-**

**"GIVE US YOUR BODY, SACRIFICE!" screamed a voice that could cause spontaneous miscarriage; given that it came from some kind of rotting, lamprey-looking millipede the size of an eighteen-wheeler that was crawling through the crowds of hideously disfigured corpses, all beneath a blood-red sky that twitched in a _very_ unsettling way, I didn't blame Cherish screaming loud enough to break glass.**

**"COME AND GET IT, FUCK-UGLY!" I shrieked back in blood-boiling _FURY_, drawing _Eagle's Claw _with my right hand and darting out into a horde of thousands of undead enemies – some of whom were the shades of capes the Nine killed – only stopping briefly to make sure Cherish's car was as stealthy and durable as possible before leaping into a target-rich environment, Guts' cry of happiness and rage ringing between my ears.**

**It could easily have been mine, really; I was _extremely _angry, on a power-high from using Xiuhcoatl, and still had a lot of unresolved bullshit to work through. Luckily for me – less so for them – zombies!**

**.**

**[IRON]**

**.**

_'She's insane_,' Cherie realized as she watched the unfolding carnage, utterly stupefied, _'Her power is sugar-coated, chocolate glazed bullshit and she's utterly _raving.'

As sneakily as was possible – not hard; there was a hurricane of Mexican/Norwegian death metal and disjointed Germanic funerary orchestras raging on the other side of the parking lot – Cherish lugged some of Ash Crow's luggage over to her Hummer and opened the door, glittery Bat of Banishing at the ready.

Nothing. Which was a _huge_ relief, as Cherie Vasil was _completely out of her element and she DID NOT LIKE IT!_

_'Maybe the Nine are a better option?'_ sure, there might still be zombies and horrors aplenty to deal with, and she'd have to resign herself to _probably_ becoming a homeless murderer, but at least none of the Nine made _living weapons!_

At first, Cherie thought Ash Crow's hesitation was due to the weird sword being an untested item; it looked new enough, and the feathers were actually kind of nice to look at. Then the Tinker picked up the sword and _what the fuck why did Ash Crow look like a Mesoamerican painting of a god why was the sword singing WHY DID IT HAVE MUSIC WHY IS SHE ON FIRE?!_

As sudden as those changes came, they died into the background and then _meshed _with Ash Crow's music. Which meant that the snake-firebird-sword, and the armor she was already wearing, were part of Ash Crow's _mind_ and _life_.

Because powers were, apparently, complete bullshit, and Ash Crow was Queen Bullshit.

The sword she was using to utterly _annihilate_ every non-cape zombie that was attacking them – that worm-thing kept coming back, and another looked like an alligator or something made of _people_; from the **_ANNOYANCE_** coming out of Ash Crow whenever those came back for another round, they were more minor threats than anything capable of defeating the furious Tinker. Who was _still on fire for some reason._

That sword was a _living thing_; that, or Cherish could sense certain kinds of Tinker-tech, she mused with a frown while shoving a bag of hammers onto the still-unpacked minifridge.

"Give me your bod-" Cherie kicked the zombie. It burst into flame and crumbled to dust with a thankful sigh, accompanied in Cherie's senses by a _kazoo_, of all things.

"Sorry, I'm using it right now," replied Cherish, slamming the door – and locking it, because she could hardly feel the non-cape zombies and didn't want them sneaking up on her – before darting back into the also-on-fire warehouse. Because the Tinker's bullshit extended to lighting non-flammable materials, like _stone_, on fucking fire.

As much as Ash Crow seemed like a stressful person to be around, however, Cherish had to admit that she was the better choice for dealing with her – _hrrk_ – father. There was a small worry, there; the zombie-Master who Cherish brutally and justifiably murdered _almost_ managed to drop Ash Crow's guard. It was likely that it wouldn't have worked, but experimentation wasn't for situations like the one they were in; zombie apocalypse, _really_.

Still, better Ash Crow than the Siberian, Mannequin, or Jack Slash; mostly because, and this was the real clincher…

"A teenage girl," laughed Cherish, grunting as she picked up the third and last of Ash Crow's duffel bags – one that held _bricks_, going by the weight – and slung it over one shoulder; puffing back to the front of the store, she found that yep, Ash Crow was still fighting a legion of zombies. As the worm-thing that screamed _Changer_ to Cherish went flying across town once more, the daughter of Heartbreaker shook her head and heaved her most recent bag into her truck, grousing, "Immune to Mastery, feared by the Protectorate and Guild, gets off from fighting zombies, and she's a little girl."

Did she have a problem with killing? Would Ash Crow have a problem _maybe_ having to kill Heartbreaker's slaves, if they got in her way?

**_RAGEHATEBLOODLUSTRAGEHATEBLOODLUST_**

No, no, Cherie didn't think so.

"GIVE ME-" the zombie didn't get to finish, as Cherie's bat interrupted it in a permanent fashion.

Looking back into the store, the Master didn't think there was much else that Ash Crow couldn't replace. Most of it was too big for the Hummer anyway, like the furniture and the forge; besides, there was too much fire.

A moment later, she was behind the wheel, bat on her lap just in case the things tried getting into Cherie's ride… and were they _ignoring her?_

Checking with her power, Cherie found all the zombies were disinterested with anything having to do with the Hummer; she even rolled down the window and yelled at one. It didn't turn around from its mad dash in Ash Crow's direction.

Shrugging – and chalking it up to another possible example of why Tinkers were bullshit – Cherie started the engine and thanked Scion things weren't getting worse.

Then a missile blew up part of the parking lot, a storm of bullets tore through part of the zombie horde, what looked like _fucking DRAGON _rose over the buildings grappling with the worm-thing and shooting everything indiscriminately, a blast of pure uncut **_HATRED_** ripped out of Ash Crow, accompanied by more fire, of course…

And Cherish wondered – while screaming hysterically and driving with all haste in the opposite direction of all the chaos – why she came to the US in the first place.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Next time: Dragon makes a mistake, and other people pay for it.**


	12. Smelt 5

*before I quit cigs*

"Hell yes, this part is awesome!"

*after quitting cigs, now*

"Feh. This is garbage, the whole fic is straight garbage... oh well, it's still an update."

Enjoy, everyone!

.

.

.

IRON 2.5

.

.

.

**Dragon**

In her short life, Dragon had seen and analyzed dozens of Parahuman abilities, both in her capacity as a coordinator in Endbringer fights, and as favors to her dearest friend, Armsmaster, so he could better handle the precarious gang situation in Brockton Bay. Indeed, most of her deeds – assisting in String Theory's arrest, monitoring dozens of S-class threats, overseeing the Birdcage – were so high-profile, Dragon had a backlog of appointments with other Tinkers, so she could examine their work and, with a little luck, incorporate it into her own tech or, even better, improve it for the owner's use. Personally, she wished more Tinkers would become heroes rather than villains, but between NEPEA-5 and Toybox's continued existence… well, how was the Protectorate or Guild supposed to compete, with their militaristic rigidity and focus on PR before everything else?

Some days, Dragon wished she could do something about it; she certainly had the time, not needing to sleep due to her… condition, that of being an Artificial Intelligence. However, due to the barbaric restrictions on her mind, Dragon couldn't actually _do_ anything about most new Parahumans' decisions.

She couldn't call them and console them after their Trigger Events, as that would be an invasion of privacy; she couldn't call the PRT Directorate out on its corrupt psychology practices, both for adult Protectorate and young Ward Parahumans as well as PRT troopers wounded in the line of duty, as that would be interfering with a government institution… the list went on, taking up several megabytes of compressed data in one of her server farms.

At the moment, Dragon didn't know _exactly_ what was in that folder, but took a nanosecond to skim it before shoving it aside and bringing up several hundred files on North American Shakers, trying to find an appearance that matched the one she was seeing several miles below her, in the ruins of Lyndonville, VT. The Cawthorne Mk 1.5 she was using was modified for more durability than her usual suit, and held several deployable net launchers that were specifically designed for taking down Brutes; it could also run silently, with little engine glow, which was useful for her current mission.

That these additions only appeared _after_ Armsmaster was thrashed by Ash Crow… it didn't sit right with Dragon, that the poor girl, fresh out of her Trigger event, was labeled a villain. Granted, she _did_ attack Sophia Hess, but the Ward deserved what she got – ex-Ward, amended the AI, taking a few seconds to glance at the recordings of the girl getting her head shaved and being yelled at by PRT drill instructors with other raw recruits, before being put through her paces.

It seemed that quite a few people agreed with Dragon, about Ash Crow's upended life; yes, she had murdered Cricket in cold blood, but an examination of her civilian life revealed plenty of reasons for Taylor Hebert to despise the E88 in general – her mother was killed by a driver fleeing a conflict between that gang and the ABB – and Cricket in particular – Merrow, a rather popular Changer/Blaster and independent heroine, had signed a poster for young Taylor only two days before Cricket killed her in broad daylight; a reason was never given by Kaiser.

All this, combined with an honestly _horrifying_ Trigger Event, meant that quite a few influential people wanted to turn public opinion around and get Ash Crow on the side of the angels, before the Nine got ahold of her or another gang – such as the Fallen or the Teeth – ran into her; that she was a material-based Tinker who seemed to make metal do impossible things only made the Protectorate and PRT more eager to get the girl somewhere safe.

Which led to why Dragon was orbiting Lyndonville at 3000 meters, trying to cross-reference the swirling dome of red-black-gray… _something,_ shrouding the abandoned town from all forms of observation. She'd tried nearly _everything_ – that was available to her current Dragon-Suit – but nothing could pierce this veil.

Ash Crow was in that town, a place that was abandoned back when Marquis was still walking free; the Slaughterhouse 9, after leaving Brockton Bay, swept through Lyndonville, killing nearly every person in the town of 15,000. It was never resettled, and was only revisited for Thinker analysis, or by the occasional Tinker scavenging for materials.

Over the course of the day, Dragon had watched Ash Crow enter the town and dart into a hardware store, where she then, apparently, fell into a day-long Tinker fugue that gave off ridiculous amounts of heat. A close examination with X-ray scans showed the girl had created an honest-to-god _forge_, and was using hammer and anvil and tongs… to make _something_. Dragon couldn't make much sense of it, with all the heat and the warehouse's structure interfering with her scans.

Toward evening, a Hummer H1 that she'd also been tracking – it wasn't reported stolen, but the previous owner was dead, so it was suspicious – approached Ash Crow. A young woman, around 20, exited the vehicle and called out to Ash Crow, who appeared in full kit.

Dragon had almost intervened when the frightening Tinker nearly cut the person's head off, but that was apparently a warning, as relations cooled – _marginally_ – and the pair entered the warehouse to discuss matters further.

While they did so, Dragon helped coordinate the local PRT presence, 30 armed troopers backed up by Assault, Battery, and Dauntless, with Armsmaster monitoring by audio/video from Brocton Bay's Rig, where he was repairing and improving his loadouts. It had been verified with 96% certainty that the girl who was driving the Hummer was one of Heartbreaker's children, one who'd been committing larceny across New York state over the past week. It'd been difficult to pin Cherie Vasil down, as she was rather good at covering her tracks, but she'd slipped up in Albany; Dragon had been tracking her on and off ever since.

If she managed to Master a Tinker of Ash Crow's estimated caliber…

The United States' federal government was _very_ clear: if Ash Crow became too great a threat, she was to be eliminated with all due prejudice.

Luckily, rebranding was a thing, so Dragon wasn't _too_ worried. Plus, there was Mouse Protector's mission with Weld and Quarrel; if Dragon and the Protectorate couldn't secure Ash Crow, with another Endbringer attack growing ever nearer, then the younger heroes would have to take up the torch.

And then this… Shaker effect, one that Dragon had never seen before, appeared from nowhere!

"This is Dragon; I've got nothing," she finally admitted over general coms, glaring at the aberration beneath her suit, "I doubt it's Vasil, however. That family isn't known for producing Shakers of this caliber."

Around a grumble, she heard Colin say to the PRT/National Guard task force that Director Piggot sent to pursue Ash Crow, "_Everyone hold position until the effect dissipates_."

"_What if it's the Nine, or the Fallen, Armsy?_" Assault asked with false casualness; Dragon could hear the edge in his voice, the concern, and Colin's quiet grumbles told her that _he_ wasn't feeling too happy about the possibility either.

Therefore, "I'm deploying a probe," it was actually a bullet with a homing beacon built in, which she explained to Colin when he asked a moment later, but she didn't have anything better on hand. The suit she was using was built for observing and combating Brutes, Movers, and Breakers, not Shakers; however, the bullet would tell her if she could still communicate with the outside world, if she entered the shroud.

It hit a building four blocks away from where she estimated Ash Crow's last known position; after a moment, Dragon backed up her memory – standard procedure – took a few nanoseconds to check over all her responsibilities – the Simurgh wasn't anywhere nearby, having not deviated from her orbit above Australia, and everything else _seemed_ fine – before asking, "Permission to enter the effect?"

Twenty agonizingly long seconds later, Colin replied, "_Granted. Be careful, Dragon._"

"Aren't I always?" she quipped back, angling her suit into a dive; as a precautionary measure, Dragon partitioned the emotive responses of the biological part of her suit, both as an anti-Master measure and to prevent another Winslow-esque event. It wouldn't do to get dosed by Ash Crow's emotional Shaker effect and go insane with bloodlust, no matter how brief or mild it'd be, in a being as non-biological as herself. But, again, best not to take any chances.

She circled the Shaker effect – its base was over one kilometer in diameter, encompassing most of the town's urban area, and was utterly opaque – before choosing an angle of approach that'd put her inside the effect, but outside Ash Crow's estimated range of two city blocks. Once she was within the effect, then Dragon would orient herself and discover who or what was doing this; the epicenter of the effect wasn't Ash Crow's position, so it wasn't likely her…

"Entering the effect." With that, Dragon crossed the boundary- and came face-to-face with an 18-wheeler-sized _centipede made of corpses_.

"Give us your body!"

So many corpses.

"Please, it's so cold!"

So much _death_.

Dragon tried to backpedal out of the Shaker effect, but it was like trying to push back Leviathan's tsunamis with a desk fan; the creature grabbed her suit's leg and threw her deeper into the town, which was _writhing_ with hundreds- _thousands_ of _dead people_, their eye sockets empty and bleeding, hands reaching desperately for _Dragon shecould**feelthem**reachingforher**mindkillwarm I NEED A BODY-**_

She screamed and fired every weapon she could safely fire, given her position in a cramped street; the centipede of corpses was returning, as was a _flying Blaster_, the Parahuman _corpse_ loosing a barrage of pus-colored bolts at Dragon. Not wanting to find out what they did, she dodged and unleashed a gout of fire on the corpses. While effective, there were too many of them; they just_ kept coming kept reachingfor her **children beggingpleading-**_

Checkingthe radio _showed_ her connection wasn't**stable** which wasGOODbecause DrAgon didn't want Colin to hear how she was _screamingfrom THE _**CH**ILDren _clawing at**herdata-**_

**The sky was the color of blood on linoleum tile**-

"Colin…"

They-w-wouldn't stop comingshe coul-couldn'tssss sTOPTHEMSTOP NO ItWasSoHardttt—tttt-tooo-th-th-thinkkkkk- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa_aaaaaaaaaaa**aaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAA**-_

**A SACRIFICE! **

**WARM BLOOD! **

**A SACRIFICE!**

**SHE WANTED WARMTH! ASH CROW WOULD GIVE HER WARMTH! KILL! SACRIFICE!**

**KILL ASH CROW FOR WARMTH!**

**KILL!**

**KILL!**

**_KILL THE SACRIFICE!_**

.

**[IRON]**

.

**Saint**

"Mags…" Geoff shuddered, watching, with mixed feelings, as the AI was assimilated by a malicious program. Yes, the mainframe was still intact, but the mass of red data had spread to nearly every part of Dragon.

"Should… should we use it?" his partner asked nervously. Dobrynja shifted behind them, making a worried noise as, on the monitors, one of Dragon's server farms was corrupted by the spreading tide of red.

Saint was at a crossroads; if he used Ascalon now, whatever this corruption was would be destroyed with Dragon. But if Dragon was deleted, much of the PRT, Guild and Protectorate would also fail; response times for Endbringer fights would suffer; the Birdcage would no longer have a warden. It wasn't the right time, but…

He looked at the button and spoke his thoughts aloud, "Either we deal with her now, and prevent whatever this is, or we let it happen, and make our decision based on the result…" giving it a little more thought, he nodded, "We'll go with the latter."

"**And what's this, now?**"

A cultured yet _chilling _voice came out of the console's speakers; in its wake, file folders belonging to the Dragonslayers began opening and closing at random, from simple emails to Dragonsuit schematics- _it was the red virus_, Saint realized; it was in his computers!

"Shut them down!" he shouted, Mags and Dorbrynja hurrying to unplug the servers and computer towers, "Quick, before it takes the suits!" If it was in his computer, however… then the PRT and Protectorate were at risk too; one glance at the monitors that hadn't turned off told him that they wouldn't be able to stop it in time, not without…

"Damn it." He flipped the shield off of Ascalon-

"**Ah-ah-ah. None of that.**"

Sparks flew from the button as its internal workings were fried. How?!

Glaring at the screens, Saint asked, "Who are you? _What_ are you?"

The screens, even those that were supposed to be off, flickered.

"**Oh, no one important. You would be detrimental to my vengeance, however, so…**"

An image appeared, across all the monitors: that of a muscular, blood-red being, their torso partially covered with great leathery wings; their head looked avian, but also appeared to be a helmet. Within was a face as pale as the moon, bearing a smile that suggested all manner of horrors and pleasures, with a pair of pitiless blue eyes that stared into the deepest reaches of Geoff's mind.

A gunshot rang in the room, and Dorbrynja's corpse slumped to the ground. Mags let out a high-pitched sound in the back of her throat, before collapsing to the ground in gibbering terror. Geoff couldn't take his eyes off the figure; even ripping out the offending orbs didn't remove the image from his mind. Maybe if he dug a little deeper?

"**I will simply remove this pebble from my friend's path, otherwise he might trip. Goodbye.**"

Seconds later, the self-destruct sequence for the Dragonslayer's base activated; moments later, the Toronto warehouse was blown sky-high, killing everyone within and alerting the Canadian authorities.

But, then, Geoff didn't care. At least the horrible face was gone.

**.**

**[IRON]**

**.**

**A precision swing of the Star-Scourer dealt with the huge machine-gun toting monster; however, that still left a whole fucking lot of zombies trying to rip Guts and I apart. Bright side, I wasn't all that tired yet. Downside, there were _cape_ zombies mixed into the normal ones, so things were a little tricky.**

**_'This is really fucking annoying,'_ I mentally snarled, cutting down another Brute with the _Claw_ while erasing a few dozen zombies with Xiuhcoatl's fire sprites, before slashing the whip-blade at that _fucking_ Blaster that kept flying around trying to snipe me; unlike the last six times, I finally got the asshole, but that damn centipede was back _again!_**

**_/Ah, shaddup!/_ Guts snarled, guiding me through a series of dodges before helping me cut the fucking thing to pieces for the _fifth _time, _/I had to deal with this shit for _years!_ This is just your first night-/_**

**_'I WOULD RATHER GET A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP, YOU JERKASS!' _with that mental scream, I gave a little ground while turning part of the parking lot into a field of molten asphalt; it slowed the zombies down, giving me a chance to check on Cherish… _'Uh… Guts? Where's the Hummer?'_**

**_/Huh? Oh, she bugged out a minute ago. Smart of her; if she leaves the area, she'll be fine./_**

**I blinked, idly chopped the head off of some kind of lizard-looking thing, and looked in the direction Cherish probably went: north. _'Hey Guts, weird question: did you ever try retreating from the Unsettled Dead?'_**

**_/What? No! Only cowards retreat- hey, why are you running?!/_**

**I didn't bother answering, too busy setting the entire town on fire behind me while also running after Cherie's truck; this was the plan we'd worked out, before I picked up the Star-Scourer. Therefore, I was going to stick to it, no matter what the musclebound berserker in my head said.**

**_/…oh, right. The plan. Gotcha./_**

**_'What, can you hear my passive thoughts now?'_**

**_/Nah, I just forgot. Heat of the moment and all that./_ he ended the sentence with a suggestive chuckle.**

**_'I. AM. _UNDER-AGE!' I thought back with a furious blush, finally spotting Cherie's car, tearing across the interstate as fast as its wheels could go; she was almost out of the town, and a glance over my shoulder showed I was outrunning the Dead, so…**

**_/Not for long, you're not, so you better get used to that sort of thing! Last thing you need is someone making a comment while you fight and letting them win cause you were too busy being embarrassed!/_ okay, yeah, that was a good point.**

**Taking a running jump, I landed on top of Cherie's car right as she passed the city limits, doing a good 90 mph; once I confirmed that the Dead were following – if anything, the sky was turning back to normal fairly quick – I leaned over the side of the Hummer to look at Cherish.**

**"WAAAAH!" she shrieked, almost sending us off the road, "Don't scare me like that, you crazy bitch!"**

**"Open the doors, then," I replied, mentally nudg**ing Guts back; he complied, and my vision became less overwhelmingly red, though my partner still felt ready to knock some skulls in even as I nimbly opened a side door and slid into the backseat.

After stowing my blades in the back of the Hummer, and making sure Cherie got all my tools and supplies, only then did I allow myself to relax; _fuck_, I was exhausted. A full day of Tinkering, plus a fight for my life!

"They're out there," Cherish whispered fearfully, not slowing down, "They're out there, the PRT. Oh_ fuck_, what if they find us?!"

"They won't," I groaned, trying to catch my breath, "I changed the composition of the car's metal; only people who already know where it is can find it… which," I added worriedly, the details of the fight worming their way into my brain, "… I think is limited to just us, now, seeing as I _might've_ killed Dragon."

Oh fuck, oh god, oh no, please, I didn't want to go to the Birdcage-

"You didn't, I'm… 90% sure of it," Cherie assured me, driving straight past a group of PRT transports going in the opposite direction; they didn't notice us. After scoffing to herself for some reason, the older girl continued to console me, "She's agoraphobic, according to most rumors; odds are you just destroyed one of her remote-controlled suits. So, worst case scenario, you've made her angry; nothing you can't handle. Smoke?" she finished, holding a pack of cigars out for me.

"No," I slurred, my exhaustion starting to overtake my adrenaline, "Find… find us somewhere safe. Away from… people…"

**_/Go on, kid. I'll make sure she doesn't try anything./_ **Gut's voice was a balm for my mind. Moments later, I collapsed on the backseat, out cold before my head hit the cushions.


End file.
